Devil Within
by Beckydaspatz
Summary: Set in S3, Dean is racing against his deal and Sam is desperate to save him...but things never run smoothly for the Winchesters... Finished! Oh YEAH!
1. Chapter 1

**A.N.: Hello all! So here is my newest story. It's set in S3 shortly after 'Dream a little dream of me.' so Dean has already vocalized that he indeed doesn't want to go to hell. He's racing against his deal and of course because he's a Winchester things just go horribly wrong. This will be a tad bit (okay probably a lot darker) than what I usually write, so consider yourself warned. Hope that you enjoy and thank you SO much for all those who read.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

Dean groans as the plane jerks with turbulence, his fingernails biting into the fabric of the arm rest.

"Worst idea ever Sam."

Sam eyes him sideways and sighs. "We're almost there Dean. You okay?"

His hisses out a breath. "No dammit, I'm not okay. How the hell did I let you talk me into this shit anyway?"

Sam pats his arm softly. "The pilot is possessed remember? That guy Bobby told us about," he pauses. "Monty, said this demon could help us with your deal."

His older brother chortles. "That is just a screwed to all hell comment if I have ever heard one."

Sam dips his head in agreement. "Desperate times man."

Dean nods. "Yeah, yeah I get all that," he breaks off to raise an unsteady hand down his haggard face. "But is there a reason why we have to do it five million fucking feet up in the air?"

"It's not that bad Dean, and we're almost done."

Dean throws a scowl his direction and tightens his hold on the EMF meter. "It's not that bad Dean, we'll be done in no time Dean, we have to save these people Dean." He mocks, exhaling a shaky breath.

"I promise bro, as soon as we get some answers; I'll take you out for a drink."

Dean casts a small smile at him. "Steaks Sammy. We get some answers and then steaks."

There is another violent jolt of motion as Dean slumps forward in his seat with a bit off. "Son of a bitch!"

"You okay?"

"The sooner this fucking thing is over, the sooner I'll be okay." His hands fold onto the top of his head as he readjusts himself in the seat.

Sam tilts the face of his watch towards him. "Twenty minutes Dean and then we will be on the ground."

"Couldn't have just caught the bastard in the bathroom." He grumbles. "Stupid ass demons don't have to pee or what?"

Sam chuckles. "Just Winchester luck I guess."

A pleasant voice kicks over on the intercom informing them that they will be landing soon.

"The weather in Sioux City is just below freezing so I hope you packed your parkas folks, cause the whole city is dusted in the white stuff." The noise cuts off.

"We sure it isn't her Sam? She's too fucking perky for being on a tin can death trap."

Sam snorts. "You want to check her too?"

"No. I just want to get this done and over with. I will _never_ get on another plane again."

"It's not that bad."

"Not that bad?" Dean's knuckles turn white as his hand clamp down even harder. "Oh it's bad Sam. And I'm thinking maybe I should forgo the barf bag for the front of your shirt."

"Dean,"

"Just tell me when we land." He mutters, burying his head back between his knees.

* * *

><p>Dean's rapid breaths don't even out until they have come to a complete stop, the overly perky flight attendant stopping several times to check on them.<p>

"We're here doll." She cooes, placing a well-manicured hand onto his back.

"He's fine really, just food poisoning at the airport."

Her mouth twists into a pained expression. "Poor baby," she states.

"Yeah," Sam states, placing his own palm next to hers. "But I got him from here."

She nods. "Well, let us know if you,"

"We will." Sam says, waving her off. "Thanks."

"Was she hot?" Dean inquires, directing the question towards his knees.

"Um… no, not really." He eases his brother into a standing position. "You got the stuff?"

Dean rifles through the duffel in the overhead bin and pulls out the 3 oz. container of holy water. "It will have to do."

"Good, cause the pilot just walked off the plane."

Dean shakes the rest of the jitters out of his body and shoulders the duffel. "Lead the way ."

* * *

><p>The man looks up as Sam clicks the lock on the bathroom door.<p>

"Guess you freaks do have to pee." Dean gloats as he unscrews the cap of the holy water container.

The man smiles as he turns towards them. "Winchesters."

"So you know who we are, good, that makes this easy then." Dean takes a couple of steps towards him.

"Yeah, I know who you are. You are Dean and Sammy Winchester." He states swinging a finger between the two before landing on Dean. His hand takes on the shape of a gun and he pulls the trigger with a soft click of his tongue on his teeth. "Hell can't wait to get its claws into you boy." He straightens his pilot jacket.

"Yeah, so I've heard."

"Dean," Sam begins with a nod to the locked door.

"Wish we could stay and chat," Dean pauses as he squints at the name tag. "Tom, but we got some questions for you."

Sam retrieves the journal from inside his jacket. "Yeah, like how do we get Dean out of his deal?"

The man laughs, throwing his head back as his eyes turn black. "Out of the deal? Are you fucking dense? There is no out, there is only down." He replies, pointing a finger downwards.

"Bullshit." Sam spits. "There is an out and we know that you know it."

He laughs again. "Somebody lied to you son, you think I'm more important than I really am."

Sam exchanges a look with Dean. "We have a friend that told us all about you."

"Well boy howdy if your friend says so it must be true." He shakes his head. "What friend is this?"

Dean inches closer with the open bottle. "None of your damn business."

"Well it's not like you have much to choose from, that old drunk Bobby and a few stragglers that we haven't gotten to…" He breaks off and chuckles under his breath. "Yet."

"We know you know how to fix this. You tell us and maybe we let you go back to hell nice and easy."

"Nice and easy?" He lets loose a roaring guffaw. "That sentence is the very definition of irony son."

He strides towards Dean as he holds out the bottle in defense. "And I'll tell you what else," he starts as Sam leaves the door to stand by his brothers side. "Monty was a set up. You two chuckle heads are up shit creek without a paddle."

Sam's eyes widen as Dean launches the contents into the man's face.

He yells out in pain and grabs Dean by the collar of his shirt before he sends him flying into the bathroom stall.

"Dean!" Sam shouts.

"I'm fine Sam!" Dean calls back, leaning against the bent door for support. "Send that son of a bitch back!"

The man backs away as Sam pours the rest of the liquid into his open howling mouth.

His brothers' voice carries over to his ears as the man roars and tries to escape the constant barrage of attacks from the younger Winchester.

"That's my boy." He grins.

"You'll regret this." The demon promises as the hosts body shudders and the mouth elongates to let out the stream of black smoke.

Dean watches as the smoke hovers above the unconscious body for just a second longer than they are used to.

"What the," he starts as Sam turns to him.

His brothers eyes go impossibly huge in their sockets as all color drains from his face.

"Dean," his voice comes out in a gasp of harsh air as Dean spies what his little brother is looking at in horror.

The protection charm that Bobby gave him, lying in a heap several feet away from him.

Must have happened when…

His train of thought is violently derailed as his body kicks in to overdrive, scrambling on his hands and knees to retrieve the fallen protection.

"NO!" Sam bellows as Dean feels his body seized from all sides.

He can't move, can't breathe, can't speak, can't do anything but ache in every fiber of his bones as he is invaded. He can _feel_ the evil son of a bitch take control as his hand flexes in front of his face before it swats the charm to the side.

Sam fumbles over the Latin words as he shoves the body of his brother into the door of the stall.

"Hold on Dean," Sam begs, pausing in his exorcism for just a moment to try and deliver reassurance to his brother.

A moment too long.

The demon takes the momentary weakness to haul Sam away from him and slam his head into the wall.

Sam paws at his brothers' shirt. "Dean,"

"Not anymore Sammy boy," he grins, slamming his elbow viciously into the younger Winchesters face.

He smirks as he hears the crack of bone, before letting the other man's body slide down motionless to the floor.

"Dean has left the building."

**TBC...**


	2. Chapter 2

**A.N.: I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack. Sorry it has taken a while to get this chapter out, but it was being a pain in my ass and didn't want to cooperate. But now it's done! As a side note I hope nobody ever goes back and looks at my Google history. It might be slightly incriminating that I looked up "the effect of oxygen deprivation", "How long you can survive being buried alive", "how long an oxygen tank gives you" for Trapped and then "after effects of broken nose", etc, etc. Especially since I just bought a house, with a big backyard. *whistles innocently* ANYWAY hope you guys like this. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed chapter 1!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Sam groans, the sound getting trapped somewhere between the back of his throat and his mouth.

He feels like he's floating and wonders what happened. Did he fall asleep on the plane? It doesn't seem likely that he would be able to do that with Dean's paranoid ramblings constant besides him. _Turbulence? Sounds like the goddamn plane is falling apart! Rising to 50,000 feet, why the hell would you they __**tell**__ you that? I swear Sammy, that demon is just fucking with me now. _Maybe Dean fell asleep...

He paws around for the front of the seat, seeking purchase, still having trouble getting his eyeballs to obey the one simple command to open.

His palm falls on something slick... and warm. A copper tang infiltrates his nostrils just seconds before his eyes fly open.

Blood.

"Jesus," he hisses, his line of sight full of the red chaos. His mind immediately goes into a tail spin of worry. Whose blood is that? Where's Dean?

He pushes up on one of his elbows and immediately the mint colored tile on the bathroom floor swims.

He closes his eyes and feels a delayed reaction of pain shoot through every nerve in his face.

_Not anymore Sammy boy._

"Dean," he huffs as a flash of his brother's face twisted into a smirk rushes behind his eyes.

Right before he broke his nose.

"Dammit." he mutters as he maneuvers his body into a sitting position. His limbs flail around as if they are totally separate from his body, his brain deciding that since it was invited late to the party it isn't going to show up at all. It takes him several tries to get to a point where he is able to sit without the vomit inducing colors of the bathroom taking him on an involuntary acid trip.

He grits his teeth and fights a wave of nausea. He'll be damned if he lets his brother get any further away from him.

"Come on." he spits out, pushing forward from the back of the wall until he is on his knees.

His face feels like it's on fire as he fumbles for his phone.

'_This is Dean Winchester, leave a message.'_

"Fuck!" he bellows resisting the urge to chuck the cell phone.

He grabs onto the sink counter and uses it for leverage to get himself to his feet.

He runs a hand through his hair and tries to calm his panicked thoughts.

This is _**so**_ bad.

He splashes a handful of cold water into his face and grimaces at the grotesque color his skin has taken on around his nose. His fingers move to carefully poke at the distended flesh, surprised by how much his face looks like a Picasso painting. The blow so brutal that even now Sam can see the slow gurgle of blood as it tracks down his face.

He'll find Dean and do the exorcism and everything will be fine.

His fingers slide back to his phone as he scrolls down for Bobby's number, caught off guard by the low growl of noise coming from the crumbled body across the room.

"Oh God," the man mumbles as Sam pockets his phone.

Shit, he doesn't have time to do the whole traumatized victim thing right now, not when Dean is...

"What happened?" the man demands, his voice shaking as he blinks away the remaining dregs of unconsciousness.

"Hey," Sam starts, moving over to stand by the man. "You were um...attacked, but you're going to be okay."

The man shudders and clutches his hand to his chest. "It all happened so fast, I don't know."

Sam absently pats the man's arm, his eyes already flitting to the bathroom door.

He has to get to Dean before...

"Well you're fine now," he starts, bouncing on the back of his heels to get to his feet, physically unable to move fast enough to get the hell out of there.

It's not his job to save everyone, just his brother.

The man's arm flies out and grips onto his jacket. "You're in trouble Sam."

Sam halts his ascent and stares down at the wide eyed victim. "What? How did you,"

"You're Sam. Sam Winchester, and your brother is Dean."

Icy cold tendrils of dread start to dig into his gut as he whispers. "How the hell do you know that?"

The man, Tom (Sam remembers belatedly) sighs and tries to find his voice.

Sam doesn't have time for this.

He grabs Tom by the arms and shakes him. "Hey! How do you know that?"

Tom shakes his head and gulps audibly. "I don't." he states to the floor. "I don't."

"Tell me!" Sam yells, his voice booming in the small bathroom.

His head raises and Sam can almost see a neon sign flashing 'you're fucked' from the startled blue gray orbs.

"I don't." he promises. "But the demon does."


	3. Chapter 3

**A.N.: So of course the Dean chapter just flowed right from the fingers, hence why you are getting a new chapter today. Some Demon!Dean for your viewing pleasure. I mean he is WAY too fun to write. I hope you guys enjoy. :-)**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

His tongue slides out to run over his chapped lips, relishing in the sweet burn of the whiskey he just downed.

"Sorry doll," he begins, gently removing the cheap nails from the window seal. "I got to get on the road. I've got a friend that's expecting me."

She pouts, her full lip jutting out almost as much as her surgically improved bosom. "Really?" she whines, leaning back into his space. "Is there anything I can do to change your mind?" her hands play with the top of his shirt.

He places his palm over her fingers. "Don't want my friend to think I'm rude."

She leans back and crosses her arms over her chest. "Fine." She pouts, lowering her eyes back to him. "But you're missing out."

He chuckles lowly, resisting the urge to throw her into the back of the car and take advantage of the desperation that wafts off of her in succession with her cheap tan. "I'm sure I am."

"You have _no_ idea." She promises batting her mascara caked lashes at him.

"Maybe when I get back," he rumbles, moving forward to crank the keys in the ignition. "That is if you haven't panted like a bitch in heat for some other man by then."

Her sultry stare turns heated. "Excuse me."

He snorts. "You heard me princess, the only way you could be more pathetic is if you were _actually_ humping my leg."

"How dare you!" she cries. "You sick bastard!"

He shakes his head watching her with amusement as she paces back and forth, practically foaming at the mouth as she struggles for a fitting retort.

She flexes her fingers and he feels her rage peeling off of her in delicious layers.

"God, you're such an," she pauses, her body vibrating with her outrage. She tightens her hand into a fight before opening her palm to swing out towards his face.

He catches her digits in his own.

"If your father could see you now," he tsks and watches her façade crack.

"What did you say?" she whispers, her hand wiggling in his grasp.

"I said," he begins, fingers biting into her flesh. "If your father could see you now."

She struggles in his grip, muttering obscenities as he smirks towards her. "Who the hell are you?" she questions, starting as he shifts his head towards her.

His lips lift up in a tender smile and he winks right before his eyes turn jet black.

"I'm the thing your daddy warned you about."

Her howling screams of terror follow him out onto the highway.

* * *

><p>They are just too easy.<p>

Cattle that mindlessly mill about, dragging their stench with them every inch they walk.

He can hear Dean rattling the cage of his mind, simultaneously infuriated and terrified about his predicament.

"Shhh," he soothes. "Settle down there champ." He taps the side of his head.

A flurry of curse words flies to the forefront of his mind.

"That's fine, tire yourself out before the main event, and miss all the good stuff."

Silence falls suddenly.

He laughs. "Curious? You won't have to wait long."

He huffs manically for about thirty seconds and then flips his cell phone open, dialing the last called number.

"Yeah."

"Oh Bobby thank God!" he gasps. "I'm so glad you picked up."

"Why? What's going on?"

He guns the engine and succeeds in pissing off several of the people he passes as he whispers. "It's Sam, he…" letting his voice trial off for dramatic effect.

As if on a timer there is a squeak as the older hunter pushes up from his weathered recliner and inquires. "He's what? What is it Dean?"

"Jesus Bobby, it all happened so fast." He delights in the hitch of breath from the other man as he hears him frantically get to his feet.

"What? What happened? Are you okay?"

He sighs. "I fucked up Bobby. "

"Goddammit Dean, what is it!"

He smiles softly. If he keeps this up the old man will have a coronary.

"It's Sam, Bobby. Sam's possessed." He lets his voice crack on the last word, selling the image that he is so worried he can barely keep his emotions reigned in.

"We were performing the exorcism and that nasty son of a bitch grabbed Sam, tore his protective charm off. It happened so fast Bobby, he finished it up and neither of us knew that he didn't have the charm on anymore, until it was too late." He pushes a feigned shaky breath out through his lips. "I promised I wouldn't let anything happen to him, I should have been looking out for him."

"Stop it Dean. We ain't gonna do Sam any good feeling sorry for ourselves. Shit." He grumbles.

"He might be on his way there, I managed to crack him across the face good, and when we get him back Sam's nose is probably going to be broken but then he knocked me out and I don't know where he went from there."

"What about the GPS on his phone? Found him that way once before."

"First thing I thought of but fucking demon must have turned it off. "

"Don't worry Dean, we'll find your brother."

"Yeah, thanks Bobby. Oh and one more thing."

"What's that?"

"The demon knew me and Sam; I think it might be Meg again."

The older hunter groans on the other end of the line. "Like we ain't already up to our eyeballs in demon bitches."

"I know."

"Well, what are you doing? On your way here?"

"No, I think if it's Meg she might want to go back to her old stomping ground, I'm on my way to warn Jo. See if that bitch will take the bait."

Bobby sighs. "Probably a good idea. I'll break out the devils trap and holy water in case he comes around here. I'll call you if I hear anything."

"Same here."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful. Last time Meg was here she shot you, I don't really want to worry about plugging up any more holes," he pauses. "In either of you boys."

"Preaching to the choir here Bobby." He assures him.

"Say hi to Jo for me would ya? And call me if you run into any trouble."

"Course Bobby. Anything happens and you'll be the first to know."

He closes the phone with a muted click and cranks up the death metal in the car.

"And the Oscar goes to…"

**A.W. Sam runs into trouble...**


	4. Chapter 4

**A.N.: And we're back to Sam. Sorry it took so long for me to update, Sam chapters always take me FOREVER. Plus life...it's a bitch. Hope you guys enjoy this and thank you endlessly for reading and reviewing, I appreciate the hell out of you guys. **

**Disclaimer:Not mine.**

"Nothing." The man swears with a loud gulp.

"Nothing?" Sam leans into the man's space. "Nothing at all?"

The man lifts his eyes to his face, fear and worry playing across his middle aged features. He squirms uncomfortably under Sam's intense gaze, his eyes darting to the left and then the right.

Sam clamps a hand down on the man's elbow, trying to ground him. "Hey, it's okay. Just tell me what happened."

The man blows out a quivering breath. "I told you everything I know."

"Are you sure about that?" Sam questions.

"Yes."

"Why do you look so nervous then?"

Tom's eyes track down to the hand gripped around his elbow as he lets out a derisive laugh. "Oh I don't know. Maybe because I was just ridden by a...a... demon!" He sputters, his terrorized face turning an unhealthy amber shade. "Something I thought was only real in nightmares. Then you have been grilling me for the last twenty minutes and I just want to go home!" The man bellows as Sam takes back his hand and holds it up in a placating manner.

"I know. It's terrible and I'm sorry." he says dispassionately. "But I have to know everything that you know, my brother is in trouble."

"I told you! It wasn't like me and the demon were on speaking terms, he let me know that he knows you, both of you and that he has a score to settle. That's it. Not where he was going, what he was doing..." his rage dissipates as he lowers his head. "That's it. I swear."

Sam berates himself for being so single minded that he hasn't shown any empathy for the ordeal this man has been through.

But Dean...

He gets to his feet with purpose. "I'm sorry for everything. Thanks for the help."

"Wait!" the man cries out. "What am I supposed to do now?"

Sam turns to face him. "You can go home. Try to put this whole thing behind you." he voices, knowing that the man will never really be able to put this behind him.

"What if?" Tom stumbles over his feet as much as his words as he leaps to his feet. "What if it isn't safe? If it comes back...my wife..."

Sam shakes his head with a bitter laugh. "I wouldn't worry about it sir. This was never about you."

"Are you sure?" the man is looking for reassurance from him, hoping for an answer to part from the hunters lips that might quell his uncertain.

_Not anymore Sammy boy..._

Sam nods. "Yeah, I'm sure."

He doesn't give the other man time to voice his concerns as he strides out of the bathroom.

* * *

><p>Bobby doesn't answer the phone and Sam scrubs the image of him lying in a pool of his own blood from his mind as he hammers down on the throttle.<p>

He scrolls down to Ruby's number and bites down on a string of curse words as it clicks over to voice mail.

"Ruby, hey it's me. Look I need your help, where are you? Call me back, it's important." He hangs up the phone and runs through the rest of the people he can think who might be able to help him find his demon possessed brother.

The list is regrettably thin.

A foreign pang runs through his chest as he remembers the desolation that consumed his being when Meg had rid him of the use his body, she had taken control and made a game out of tricking his brother into thinking it was Sam who had done those terrible things, Sam who had dragged his knife along the struggling and winded hunters throat and then stared down at him as he gurgled his life into his hands, his blood soaking his shag carpet.

He suppresses a shudder at the remembered feeling of being allowed access into snippets of his consciousness, his fingers always slick and dirty, his mouth full of liquor and other fouler substances.

He wouldn't wish that on anyone, especially not his brother.

He eyes the full gas tank in his newly acquired car and tries to think of where the demon would take his brother.

He's about an hour from Bobby's house if he hauls ass. He pushes the needle screaming past 100 mph and prays that there aren't any cops around.

* * *

><p>He's manages to convince himself that the reason that Bobby isn't picking up the phone is because he is busy. Sleeping, drinking, not home. Hell, he would be pleased to learn that the older hunter has taken up synchronized swimming at the Y as long as he is not...<p>

His thoughts cut off suddenly as he pulls up in the junkyard lot and sees the Chevelle gleaming in the mid afternoon sun.

"No," he groans, easing the door open and pocketing the flask of holy water and his other various demon warding charms. His hands run along on the exterior of the car, eyes taking in the sight of Bobby's house.

He swallows the lump sharing space with his Adam's apple as he approaches the front door.

It opens with a high pitched creak, reminding Sam of simpler days when he and Dean would stay here and chase each other around the house, the front door always slamming with reckless abandon behind them.

"Bobby?" He calls into the quiet area. Nothing answers him.

He takes a few steps forward as his hand travels to his gun.

"Bobby? It's me. Please, Bobby." he whispers.

He sticks his head into to the foyer, looking for signs of a struggle. He cranes his head back around to face the kitchen.

"Bobby? I really need," his plea is cut off in mid-sentence as a hand comes flying into his face. He barely manages to dodge it as the fist catches him on the side of his nose, the white sharp pain making him dizzy.

"Bobby?" He croaks, his vision blurred as a torrent of water rains down over the top of his head. He sputters as an arm presses into his trachea and pins him to the wall.

"Should have learned your lesson the first time," the older man spits as his voice cuts off into a chant of some sort.

Sam wishes he could wrap his head around what the heck is happening but he can taste blood again and it feels like he is viewing his surroundings through a haze of pain and confusion.

Bobby looks angry and he thinks he can see the words 'Hang on Sam' forming on the scowling man's mouth.

Hang on for what?

He gasps for breath as another wave of water falls around his face and his body bucks against the oxygen he is unable to get.

"Why is it?" Bobby's eyebrows crinkle in confusion.

"Bobby!" Sam grunts out, taking advantage of the older man's break in concentration to gulp in a mouthful of air.

Latin. Bobby was yelling Latin, an exorcism. He thinks Sam is possessed.

"What did you do this time Meg? Another binding link?" Bobby rips at Sam's sleeves.

"Listen Bobby," He gasps. "It's not me. It's Dean. I'm not,"

Bobby's arm increases pressure as he whispers. "Christo."

"I'm not smoking Bobby, the holy water's not," He hisses, watching as a realization dawns in the other man's eyes.

"Sam?" His arm disappears entirely from Sam's being and he slumps against the door jam trying to get his balance and breath back.

He coughs clearing the holy water from the back of his throat and willing away the throb his nose has started up again.

Winchester determination, better than any pain killer.

"It's me. I'm me," he mutters, pushing himself back to a standing position. "What?" He utters, still a little disoriented as he takes in a breath. "Did you talk to him?"

Bobby's face flashes through regret and acceptance as he helps the younger Winchester into a chair.

"Take it easy son. Here, just sit down a sec."

"Can't." Sam pants. "Dean is," he breaks off as Bobby dumps a pain pill onto the table.

"Jesus Sam, I'm sorry. Dean called he said,"

"Dean called? When? Where from?"

"The road, about an hour ago. He said you were possessed, said it was Meg again."

Sam laughs. "It's not me," he states, downing the pill with a glass of water at Bobby's insistence. "It's Dean. He's the one who's," he pauses as if it physically pains him to push the word out. "Possessed."

The older man's face crumbles into sadness, resting there a minute before rearing back into pissed the hell off. He looks like he can barely contain the tremor that invades his old worn down timbre as he states. "Wish I had known that before I ripped into you, here, let me look..." Bobby's voice trails off as he takes the younger hunters chin into his hands and tilts his head up. "Fuck Sam, what did that son of a bitch do to your face?"

Sam winces. "It looks worse than it feels. Really, I'm okay."

"Okay? Do you and Dean even know how to say anything else?" he snorts.

"Yeah," he muses, his brother names calling his hunter instincts back into a focus. "Dean. Where is he Bobby?"

Bobby scrubs a hand down his face. "Didn't say. He just said he was headed over to..." his eyes widen. "Balls."

"What Bobby? What is it?"

The other man looks up at him with worry etched into the lines of his weathered face. "He said he was going to Jo's, Sam. That demon is headed straight for Jo's."

**A.W.: So tell me what YOU guys want to see and I'll see if I can fit it in. Next up Demon!Dean pays Jo a visit. **


	5. Chapter 5

**A.N.: Here is the latest chapter of 'Devil Within', I hope you all enjoy! Thanks again for all of the favorites and reviews, you guys rock! I'm working on Chapter 6 now so you shouldn't have to wait too long. :D**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine * sigh* **

Dean's an idiot.

A Grade-A fucking moron. The fact that he has had this lithe little blond in his life for going on two years and has not done a damn thing about it makes him want to yank his vessel out of him, smack him upside the head and then shove him back down where the sun don't shine.

He grins, the mental image is quite hilarious to him.

"Do you have a pulse Dean? Seriously," he starts, watching with hungry eyes as she bends over the bar to clear off empty beer nut husks.

"I mean," he pauses and wolfishly whistles. "What have you been looking at?"

The cage in his mind rattles feebly and he catches the tail end of a colorful rant ending.

"If I touch her you're what? Going to flail around and do nothing?" he chuckles. "That's what I thought."

He smirks as he hears the angry response. "Sorry there buddy boy. I know how frustrating it can be to be bound, powerless...impotent."

A flash of a middle finger comes to life behind his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, you're going to rip me to pieces, sew me back together and then do it again. Gonna have to come up with something more threatening than that sparky."

He tilts his head to the side as if listening for a voice on the wind and then guffaws loudly.

"Well, that was creative." He replies, his hand resting on the handle of the door.

His eyes shoot up to Jo, her face hidden behind a curtain of blond hair.

"I really don't get it, why wouldn't you take advantage of her? Was it your morals?" He laughs. "Sorry bad joke."

"The guilt? Oh fuck, it's always the guilt with you meatsacks isn't it?" He shakes his head in disgust before stating in a mocking tone. "I can't do that, it's not right, what would Jesus think?" He sighs with a shrug.

"You're so busy drowning in your own useless emotions that you don't ever really live." The blonde inside spies him standing outside of the bar.

He raises his hand in a wave and after a beat she returns it.

"Well Deanie baby, I'm about to change all of that." He states with a predatory flash of teeth.

* * *

><p>"Hey Jo." He calls out as he shuts the door behind him.<p>

She acknowledges him with a slight nod of her head, pushing her rag into the bar with purpose.

Insecurity, it's so delectable.

"How you been?"

She snorts and rolls her eyes towards him. "Fine. You?"

"I've been better." He saunters over towards her.

"I'll bet."

"You planning on speaking full sentences anytime soon?" he teases, placing his wrist side by side with hers.

She hides her face as her lips threaten to part in a smile. "Maybe."

He glances around the vacant bar. "What, is it Sunday?"

She pushes the bar rag off to the side. "What do you mean?"

"It's just so empty in here."

Jo shrugs. "Yeah well, Mom is sick with the flu and considering that crap has a way of just jumping from person to person."

He grimaces and leans away from the bar. "Awesome." He replies.

"It's fine now. I've been cleaning all day."

He grins at her. "Well, what does a guy have to do to get a beer around here?"

She pulls out a cold one from under the bar and pops the lid in front of him.

"Oh," he groans, lifting the lip of the bottle to his mouth. "This is heaven."

"Three fifty." She states as he looks at her confused over the rim of the beer.

"What?"

"I said three fifty."

"Come on Jo."

"Did you call me?"

He scratches at the back of his head with a sheepish grin. "Well, um, no."

"Then three fifty."

"But I had a good reason."

She leans in his direction, placing a hand on her hip. "Really?"

"Yeah. Demon war, hell on earth, ringing any bells?"

Her cheeks suddenly look as if they have been dusted with a soft pink powder as she pivots away from him. "You're right, that is a good reason."

"So the beer…" he chances, taking a swig out of the bottle.

She scoffs and throws over her shoulder. "It's on the house."

He licks the beads of condensation off of his lips. "Thanks."

* * *

><p>"So," she starts, taking a seat in the stool next to him. "Where's Sam?"<p>

"He's feeling a little bit under the weather and this last case knocked him on his ass."

She nods before taking a gulp from her own beer. "What are you guys working on now? Anything big and bad that I should know about?"

"You still hunting?"

She snorts. "When I find out where Mom implanted the tracking device yes, until then I am a glorified babysitter for a bunch of drunks."

He laughs. "Sounds glamorous."

Her eyes light up as she moves back in towards him. "But seriously, what are you and Sam after now?"

He can feel her desire flickering off of her like a candle flame. "You know the usual, just demons, fuglys and shit I haven't killed yet."

She smiles. "You sure are one cocky son of a bitch."

"Sweetheart, I'm not cocky." His lips curl up in a Cheshire cat grin. "I'm talented."

She pushes him on the shoulder and strolls back behind the bar, but he can tell he has her on the hook.

"Do you want another one?"

He shrugs. "You buying?"

"Cheap and cocky." She groans. "Why the hell haven't I thrown your ass out of here yet?"

"Because you're dying of boredom and I keep things interesting."

She slides another bottle into his hands. "Yes please Dean, take me away from this drab and dreary life."

He chuckles. "Be careful what you wish for Jo."

* * *

><p>He figures he has about another forty minutes before Sam Winchester comes bursting through the door, and from the looks of it one more beer before Dean finally shuts the hell up.<p>

It's been a little distracting trying to seduce the young blonde with cries of you 'I'll fucking kill you, I swear to God…' sounding off as an annoying buzz in his ears.

Although he can see now that he really doesn't need much help. Jo is drunk, her neediness and attraction to his vessel's body practically screaming from her inebriated form.

"You're wasted. It's very unprofessional." He jests as he leads her to the bench behind the bar.

She giggles. "Oh yeah, cause we are just crawling in patrons."

He hands her a glass of water. "I don't think I've ever seen you drunk before."

She passes a hand through her hair. "It's not the most common thing."

"So what's the special occasion?"

Her eyes meet his, pooling with water. "Dean, I know."

He moves away from her. "Know what?"

"Dean, I know about your deal. Bobby called me and…"

"Bobby. Of course. You weren't supposed to," he breaks off chortling darkly. "Not like it does you any good."

"I could help." She starts. "I could help you,"

He spins on her. "Nothing can help me, Jo. That's the point. Why would I tell you any of this when," he pauses and sucks in a shaky breath.

Her fingers fall on his chest. "I don't want you to die."

Yahtzee.

"I don't want to die."

She maneuvers her body so that she is gazing up at him. "Then don't."

Look at her, practically begging for it.

"Jo,"

"Stop talking." She demands, rising up on her tiptoes to plant her lips on his.

* * *

><p>She wants this; oh she wants this <em>so <em>bad.

Her mouth is urgent on him and he relishes in the tiny noises of need she is making, her tongue darting out to taste him.

He can't wait to see how her mouth tastes when it is full of terror, when her lips part to utter a chilling scream, when she quivers with horror and desperation.

He backs her into the counter, his mouth traveling down to the hollow of her neck as he raked his teeth along the flesh.

She moans and he takes her momentary weakness to spin her around and catch her against the bar. He pulls her head back towards him, hands roving the curves of her front. He jerks her back against him and she gasps in pleasure.

"Oh my god." She mumbles.

He laughs at the irony.

"What's so funny?" she inquires, tilting her body back towards him.

He slams her back into the bar, pinning her hands on either side of the register as he presses the front of his jeans into her backside.

"Whoa Dean." She starts as he crushes his mouth back to hers.

He pulls back with a smear of blood across his lips.

"Dean," she tries to crane her neck around to face him and he thrusts her form back into the bar.

"Fuck!" she cries out. "You're hurting me!"

He chuckles. "You know you like it."

She throws her hips back into him and attempts to get back to where they are face to face.

He limits her movement, a smile breaking out on his lips as she sees the lust in her eyes dim, replaced by panic.

He presses her face down into the rough grain. "How about you start screaming?"

"What?" she groans, stunned by the alcohol and the violence.

His eyes flash black. "You heard me bitch," he huffs, running the roughness of his tongue over the leak of tears from her eyes. "Scream."

"How did this happen? Dean?" He pulls her up from the bar and slams her roughly into the railing, cackling as her head bounces backwards from the force.

"Don't you listen!" he roars. "Dean is gone!" He laughs and breaks a beer bottle up against the railing, the fact that it causes her to yelp out in fear provides him with endless glee.

He watches as Jo's eyes go hard and hateful as he sings. "He left on a jet plane; don't know when he'll be back again."

She wipes her mouth furiously. "You sick fuck!"

He shrugs. "It's been said."

She moves a step away from him, her hands pawing around behind her for some sort of defense.

"Cold, cold, colder, warmer, ha! Just kidding still cold."

Her eyes narrow as her hand gropes the space under the register.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Jo. Your choice."

She stifles her sobs and pulls out a flask with purpose, wrenching the lid from top. "Hard way."

"What's that?" He questions, absently picking a beer nut husk from his teeth.

"This," she begins, steadying her shaking hands. "Is in case you ever came back."

**Coming up...Sammy to the rescue! Oh and Happy Easter. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A.N.: Sam finally catches up with Demon!Dean. Thank you SO much for all of your kinds words and taking your time to read and review. You guys rock! Special shout out to Sharlot for the word 'Badassery' Hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

"Any luck?" Bobby tosses his voice to the side, watching as Sam snaps his cell phone shut.

"No! Why the hell do people have cell phones if they aren't going to pick them up?" he rages, lobbing the frustrating piece of technology in the backseat.

"Jo didn't pick up?"

"Nope."

"Shit!" Bobby growls, slamming his palm into the steering wheel. "Probably means that son of a bitch got her phone off of her."

Sam runs a hand through his unruly hair, tugging at the strands as if the motion will pull forward some genius plan to get them all out of this alive.

"So what's the plan? We go in guns a-blazin' or we sneak in and catch him off guard?" The older hunter questions, his concern leaking into each word he utters.

Sam shakes his head. "I don't know. If we go in guns blazing maybe he'll be caught off guard, but Jo..."

"And if we sneak in we might be giving him more time to do whatever the hell he's doing now." Bobby groans. "Damned if we do, damned if we don't."

Sam sighs. "Jo's tough. She was terrified when I," he pauses and swallows hard. "When Meg tied her up, but she was going to fight tooth and nail, she wasn't going to give up. No matter what, she wasn't going to give up."

Bobby nods. "Okay, so we pull up to the bar and see what's going on. Who knows, maybe Jo has him on the run." he chuckles under his breath.

"Yeah, maybe."

But they both know it's not true.

* * *

><p>Bobby sneaks the car into the back of the parking lot, hiding it between Ellen's old beat up truck and an old clunker that looks like it has been rotting back here for some time.<p>

Sam pushes the door open, wincing against the sound it makes as if by some terrible turn of luck the demon will be able to hear the noise this far out.

"Sam," Bobby catches his attention, tossing him a handful of helpful demon fighting tools. "You okay?"

Sam looks up at the building, suppressing the urge to fly into the building and demand that the demon give his brother back; it feels so wrong to be without Dean…

"Um yeah," he mumbles finally, pocketing the items. "I just wish," he pauses and lets the rest of the comment hang in the air.

Bobby nods. "You cover the front. I'm gonna see if I can get in from the side. We got a better chance of beating this thing if we don't give it anywhere to run to."

The younger hunter takes a step forward. "Sounds good to me, let's go."

* * *

><p>He curses under his breath as he folds his body into a crouch, feeling far too much like a failed origami crane than he likes.<p>

He can see the tip of Bobby's tattered ball cap peeking over the top of the window as he dares a glance into the bar.

The completely desolate bar…

His eyes take a second to adjust to be able to see the two figures standing side by side with each other.

His brother's laugh rings out in the air, cocky and free and _so _much like Dean that it hurts.

"Aw Jo, you're adorable."

His eyes travel to the female hunter, her body pulled taut, and her hands gripped so tightly around a silver flask that Sam can see the lines of flesh sticking out on her knuckles.

"You son of a bitch." She growls, her voice low and threatening as she hurls the contents of the flask directly into what used to be his brother's face.

The demon howls out in pain, caught off guard by the charge led by the slender blonde.

Jo tries to wiggle out of his grasp, ducking the first blind swing that the demon throws, not as lucky as his fist closes around a handful of her hair.

She screams out as he wrenches her head back further, his face twisted and distorted into rage as Sam kicks open the front door.

"Sammy!" He calls out, cradling Jo's face to his. "Welcome to the party bro."

"Let her go." He demands, fumbling with his gun in his jacket.

The demon wearing his brother's face laughs. "Let her go? Really? That is the best you can come up with?" he shakes his head. "Really need to work on your badassery act Sammy."

Jo struggles in his grasp as Bobby rushes in through the open front door.

"Bobby!" He jeers, nodding to acknowledge the eldest hunter. "Finally decided to hobble on in here?"

"You're outnumbered here boy." Bobby warns, his eyes flashing to Jo before they land back on the demon.

"Outnumbered?" He snorts. "I have an old alcoholic, a simpering whiny princess," he pauses, pulling Jo's body closer to his. "Oh and Jo here." He sucks in air through his teeth. "Whoo, she's a firecracker."

Jo thrashes, spitting and hissing in his hold like a cat that has been gripped by its hackles.

"Jo," Sam starts. "It's gonna be okay."

Dean's eyes turn pitch black and Sam can't help the unsteady breath that crawls out of his mouth.

"Member I told you bro, don't ever promise a victim everything is gonna be okay before the hunt is over. Saves you from having to apologize to their grave."

Sam feels a wave of rage flow through him, giving him the focus he needs to steady the gun in his palm.

"There you go buddy! Got your game face on now! Look like you mean business." He applauds, slamming one hand against the bar.

Bobby keeps his gun pulled tight against his side, ready if Sam should falter.

Jo eyes meet Sam's, taking reassurance from the quiet strength the younger Winchester is exuding now.

Sam clicks back the hammer on his weapon. "Let her go now."

Dean shakes his head. "You know, I could, but I'm thinking," he pauses and Sam hears Jo gasp as a flash of metal presses against her face.

How does he move so fast?

"If you're gonna take me out now, I might as well have my fun." He runs the cold steel down the side of her face gently, like a caress.

Jo inhales a quivering breath, tears starting to fall from her face, before she spits directly in his smug face.

He wipes the saliva from his cheek with a grin. "Didn't know you had it in you Jo."

Several things happen all at once, so fast that Sam can't process them at first.

Bobby dives for Jo, her body falling to the ground as she is toss to the side like a rag doll.

Pieces of the pillar the demon stood by rain down on the ground.

Sam's ears ring at the sudden and cacophonous sound that had left a splatter of buckshot around the bar.

Dean's face pulls into a stunned and confused expression, blood leaking out of the spots of missing flesh from the side of his face.

A woman stands panting right behind them, steam trickling out of the recently fired shotgun, her face a mask of fury and fight.

He pushes up on his feet as the demon turns to confront whoever just ruined his fun.

"Congratulations sweetheart, you managed to surprise me."

Her grip tightens. "Thanks for the compliment, you piece of shit." Ellen breathes. "Now get the hell out of my bar."


	7. Chapter 7

**A.N.: Hello again! Here is the latest installment of 'Devil Within', I hope you guys like it.. To be honest this one scene in this chapter is what spurred me on to write the fic. I'm sure you will be able to pick it out. Working on Chapter 8 now. I don't know why Demon!Dean is so much easier to write than regular Sam. Does that say something about me or about Sam? LOL!**

**Disclaimer: Nothing, but this idea, is mine. **

He fights the urge to burst into insane laughter, the impulse twitching through his limbs like the current from an electric chair.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he registers a sharp stinging pain as he feel rivulets of blood trail down his mug, but his vision is consumed with Ellen's Harvelle's face.

The woman, still reeking of the slop she has been ridding herself of for the better part of the day, stands panting in front him, her features chiseled into a guise of hatred and hardiness. The truth is that she loves the man that he occupies, that she feels a maternal bond so strong towards him that the only thing that had overridden it had been her actual offspring in the clutches of danger.

He can't reel in one chuckle as it rolls off of his tongue. She's surprised him and, if he remembers correctly, it's been decades since that has happened.

She turns her head away from him for just a second, shifting her concern to her daughter who is lying motionless in the old man's arms.

"Bobby?" she asks.

"She's okay El, superficial wound. I think he just hit her with the hilt when you startled him."

Now he lets loose the stream of laughter into the open air, shaking his head with a chagrined smile.

"Oh jeez, I hit her? My bad, did _not _mean to do that."

Ellen's body moves swiftly back to aiming the gun around the region of his head. "I don't know what the hell you think is funny there chuckles, but I really don't care." she clicks on the gun to show him that she means business.

"This whole thing is hilarious Ellen!" he beams. "Do you have any idea how long it's been since I have felt genuine actual surprise? Since long before bell bottoms sugar."

Ellen takes a step towards him. "Story time is over asshole, time for you to be on your way." She nods over her shoulder at Sam as he starts the first line in the exorcism.

He throws a smirk over his shoulder, watching as defeat falls heavy over the younger man's eyes.

"Great inflection Sammy boy. Really. You sound like a pro," he tsks. "But I took some precautions to make sure you wouldn't be able to evict me so fast."

Ellen shoots a glance to Sam.

"Binding link?" Sam inquires, walking towards the bar with his gun drawn. "We've seen those before."

"Oh, I know. With Meg."

Sam's eyebrows crisscross on his forehead at the casual mention of the other demon.

"That was her mistake. Specially putting it somewhere one of you yahoos could get easy access to." He pulls out Dean's gun and maneuvers it in the crook of his elbow aimed behind him. Ellen halts her movement. "I'm a little more prepared than that. After all, I don't get to come topside very often, wanted to make sure the trip was worth the airfare." He smiles, slow and sinister at Sam. "So far, it's been a hoot."

"Doesn't matter. I'll figure it out. I'll find a way to send you back where you belong."

He nods. "Of course you will. That much is obvious. The scorecard with demons vs. the Winchesters is fairly one sided." He chortles.

"The question is when? How long will you it take you to add it all up? How many bodies will I pile up by the end of this whole thing?"

"What do you want?" He roars, slamming a fist into the bar. "Huh? What the hell do you want from us?"

He shakes his head. "It's not what I want from you Sam." He sees Ellen shuffle around the bar, shotgun lowered, to get to her daughter.

He smiles at her as she gathers the unconscious blonde into her arms, passing her shotgun over to Bobby.

"It's what I want for me."

"What does that mean?"

"Sam, you wouldn't want me to give away the ending. It's no fun that way."

"Dammit!" He yells, clicking back the safety on his own gun. "Fuck you!" He levels the gun at his brother's arm, his face turning red with his anger.

"Sam," he starts, stretching out his fingers on the hilt of the gun. "Let me tell you something about your brother."

"You don't know a goddamn thing about him," the young hunter spits.

"Really? I don't?" He smirks. "Think about it Sam. I have gold member access to his brain, his body, his thoughts, his emotions...in fact; I might know your brother even better than you."

Sam throat bobs up and down with emotion.

"Let's see." He places the gun on the railing behind him, closing his eyes as the memories flood in.

"Oh, that's a good one." he muses, opening his eyes to be met with Sam's guarded gaze.

Sam backs up a step as his brother's body lurches a step forward.

"Did you know that Dean is terrified of broken fingers? I mean here is a guy who has been shot, stabbed, thrown, hit, bludgeoned, etc, etc, and his twisted digits freaked him the fuck out." he chuckles. "He's a piece of work."

"Shut up." Sam grits out, changing the directory of his gun towards his gut.

"He was eleven when he got his fingers caught in that bear trap. You were hunting a leprechaun." he guffaws. "Explains why he hates them so much."

He shakes his head. "Anyway, this one was a dark leprechaun. His pranks were killing all sorts of campers and you and John and Dean went into the Virginia woods to take this thing out. Remember?"

At Sam's baffled look he smiles. "Oh yeah, you were six. Probably too precious to be taken on a hunt yet. But Dean, he got his hand caught, trying to catch that crafty bastard, his hand was mangled, and the doctor told your Dad he might never use it again. He cried into his pillow for the first three nights."

"I said," Sam starts, clicking back the hammer. "Shut the fuck up."

He ignores him, pressing on. "He hates his fingers broken because you can see them. Spindly, weak appendages that don't take much pressure to break." He leans into Sam, lowering his voice to a whisper. "He hates them cause he can't hide that weakness Sam, can't blow off his injuries when they are right in front of him.

Sam shoves away from him. "You don't know what the hell you are talking about," he seethes.

"Sadly, I do. He spent a month after that loading and reloading his gun until he could do it in his sleep, until it became an extension of his arm but _damn_ he just hated that it was his fingers. Bothered him more than he ever told anyone. Even you."

He can see the younger Winchester fight back tears. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to understand, really deep down get how much it got under your brother's skin."

"Why?"

The demon grips the man's ring finger and jerks it back, satisfaction filling his being as Sam yelps "No!"

"Yup, that's why."

Sam gulps. "Stop it!" Bobby has joined his side now.

"Let me walk out of here."

Sam swallows hard, the young and scared look on his face morphing into cold and collected. "No way in hell."

"Good one Sam, but I mean it, call off your old bulldog and let me leave."

Sam points his gun directly at the demons heart. "You're out of your mind. I said no."

"Okay," he pauses and takes the middle finger in between his thumb and index finger, twisting it back before the young hunter can do anything to stop him. The crack it makes as the flesh molds into a distorted U is music to his ears.

"God, stop!" he yells.

"I told you what you have to do."

"Sam, I think maybe..." Bobby breaks off as if unsure what they should do at this point.

"Need me to up the stakes, that's fine." He shoots a wink to the women on the ground as Jo starts to come to. He curls his digits around his vessel's gun, placing the barrel in the soft fleshy curve of the underside of the man's chin.

Sam's eyes balloon in his head. "You wouldn't..."

He wiggles the ring finger with a smug grin, calling out in soft tones, "This little piggy went to market," before switching to twitch the broken middle finger. "This little piggy had none."

He pauses, jamming the barrel tighter up against his throat until he can feel the metal bite into his Adam's apple. "This little piggy blew your brother's head off," He flicks off the safety.

"Okay! Jesus," Sam pants, lowering his gun towards the ground in defeat. "You can go, just, God, don't hurt him anymore, _please_."

He hears the soft anguished tone of Dean whisper. _'Sammy.'_

"I knew you would see it my way. Your brother was right about you, you're the smart one."

His eyes shoot up, tears pooling in them. "Dean, I'm sorry." he mumbles.

"You'll have your shot to get him back. It's not over. I run, you chase. That's how this game is played."

Sam gulps down his tears. "I will find you." he promises, both to his brother and the demon. "This isn't over."

The demon nods, taking a few steps backwards, towards the back door. "Far from it."

"See you soon." Sam declares, watching him until his form disappears out the back door.

He can hear the older man speaking to Sam is gentle tones, as if afraid anything more will set him the young hunter into a frenzy.

He guns the engine of the car and as he flies by the bar he sees Sam crash down to his knees, his agonized screams ringing in his ears like a sweet symphony as he peels out onto the road.


	8. Chapter 8

**A.N.: Hey there guys! This chapter is mostly setup and therefore not all that exciting, but I gave you Ruby to make up for it. It's my first time writing her and honestly, I really liked her in S3. Hope you all like this and I'm working on chapter 9 right now. Thanks so much to everyone who has read and reviewed and just overall been awesome. You guys rock! Another special thanks to Sharlot for taking time out of her life to help me out and encourage me and brainstorm with me for this (and every other) chapter. I really, REALLY appeciate it! Okay, that is it from me, enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

The dull thud of his knees hitting the sullied bar floor reverberates in unison with his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach.

He thinks he can hear Bobby muttering something to him over the fading roar of his brother's baby, but really, he can't seem to care.

It isn't until the callused palm digs into his shoulder that he snaps out of his stupor.

"What?" he groans, turning to look at Bobby as the older hunter's words start to sink in.

"This is no time to fall apart Sam." Bobby growls.

No time to fall apart...he should have had his brother back by now, by his side, frantically searching for a way to save him from the fate he himself had condemned him to. But instead...

"Sam!" Bobby yelps.

He can see Ellen patting gently at the gash across Jo's forehead, and it catches him completely off guard as he feels a rush of paternal concern for his missing brother.

"God," he breathes.

"Look son, things are bad, but we have to keep our wits about us. We aren't going to do Dean any good crying into our ice cream."

Sam nods, shaking the lingering images of snapped fingers from his mind. "I know. I know, I just..." he breaks off unable to voice the extent of what he is feeling.

"We'll get this son of a bitch, just like we got the rest of them." he assures the younger hunter.

Sam manages a watered down smile at the older man as his phone screams for his attention in his pocket.

He spies the caller id with equal amounts of relief and unease "Hey." He sighs into the speaker.

"You called?"

"Yeah, I…um, I need your help."

"Surprise, surprise."

He can almost see her smirk on the other end as he pleads. "It's Dean, Ruby."

Bobby raises a questioning eyebrow at him as Sam holds up a hand to halt all questions.

"Your brother already has a first class ticket to Hell. What could possibly be worse than that?"

The younger Winchester bites back his vicious comment at her nonchalant tone regarding his brother's predicament.

"He's been possessed." Sam huffs. "The last case we were on went south and the demon got a hold of Dean."

Ruby snorts. "You guys really suck at your job, you know that?"

"Fuck you." He grumbles.

"Sweet talker." She laughs on the other end of the phone. "So what do you want?"

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to ignore his inner voice -which sounds suspiciously like Dean- belting out 'Hang up on the demon bitch!'

"What is it, Sam?" Bobby questions.

"Did you want my help Sam? Or should I just sit here and keep listening to you breathe?"

"No. I uh, yeah, help would be great."

"So, tell me what happened?"

"I just did."

"That's not a lot to go on."

Sam pushes to his feet and starts to pace as he rehashes the last couple of hours of torment for him and his brother.

"Broke the fingers huh? That's pretty common."

Sam can feel the red wave of fury building up in him as he recalls the absolute glee on his hijacked brother's face.

"He did it because it bothered Dean. Because it _scared _Dean." He seethes.

"_Still_ not a lot to go on."

"Well, don't you have someone you can ask? Aren't we kind of a big deal?"

Ruby sighs before replying with a slow evenness that makes Sam feel like he is being scolded. "Sure Sam, I'll just go ask my gaggle of demon buddies what the word is down under."

"Ruby," he sucks in an unsteady breath, the image of his brother's darkened eyes haunting him. "_Please_."

There is a pregnant pause. "Fine. I'll call you when I know something." she said before hanging up without another word.

He places the phone down on the bar with a heavy sigh.

"What did she say?" Bobby inquires, helping Ellen and Jo get to a standing position.

"She's going to try to see if anyone knows anything."

"Working with Ruby, Sam," Bobby pauses with a weary sigh. "It's just,"

"I know!" He throws over his shoulder, like an attack; despite the fact that he knows Bobby is not to blame for any of this.

He doesn't know what else to do, doesn't know what other leads to follow and what path to take.

His whole life Dean has been calling the shots, leading the way, taking his hand and telling him what road he could traverse safely. He's always resented the fact that he had so little control over what they did, that it was always assumed that Dean would take charge, because his brother always did.

He misses that _so_ much right now; he's struck motionless by the notion.

Jo's hand covers his on the bar, jerking him from his thoughts.

"You okay Sam?"

Her voice is kind and warm, and he notices that Ellen echoes the sentiment from her daughter's side.

"No. I'm not.' He mumbles, unsure that he could convince anyone at this moment of anything else.

Jo nods. "Right. Dumb question."

"How about you?

Jo pushes her hair away from her blood soaked forehead, winching as her nails skim the injury. "I'm fine."

Sam smiles wanly at her. "Liar."

She shrugs as Ellen takes out the first aid kit.

"That looks nasty Jo. You're gonna need stitches." Bobby winces, concern leaking through his worn voice.

"I've had worse."

"How about you Ellen?" Bobby brushes her arm with his hand.

"I'm fine." She hisses, snatching back her limb. "I won't be able to say the same thing for you Singer if you ever keep me out of the loop again."

Sam looks from Ellen to Bobby, impressed that even though Ellen looks like she might lose her lunch any second now, she sports a bitchface the likes of which he has never seen.

"I didn't want you to worry." Bobby mutters, pulling his ball cap from his head in a show of nervousness. "Sam and I had it under control."

"I'm okay, Mom." Jo mumbles, pressing her hands into the bar to keep her balance.

"We didn't want you to get hurt," Sam starts, trying to diffuse the situation.

Ellen shakes her head in disgust and cocks her shotgun as Jo slinks down into a seat.

"Not with my kid, guys," she growls, making sure that everyone is aware there is no room for arguement. Her eyes lock onto them as her hand shifts to press a bar rag to her daughter's head. "Got it?"

The fire in her eyes gives his devotion to Dean a run for its money. Sam gulps as he and Bobby reply simultaneously. "Got it."

"Good." She moves as Bobby takes a seat next to Jo. "Now that's out of the way, maybe you want to tell me who you were on the phone with." She nods towards the closed cell.

Bobby groans. "Oh hell, that's a long story."

Sam opens his mouth to confess to his newest habit of keeping less than satisfactory company when the phone buzzes on the bar.

He snatches it up as if it is a bomb that needs to be immediately dismantled.

"Ruby?"

Jo, Ellen and Bobby all lean forward to try to catch whatever is being uttered on the other end of the phone.

"Did you get him?" Sam asks, wishing that he could reach through the phone and shake an answer out of her.

"Sure did. Ruined my favorite shirt, but I finally got someone to talk."

Sam tries to evade the perverse images of mangled bodies and twisted forms that slam into the forefront of his mind, complete with skull splitting surround sound.

He fights the bite of bile in his esophagus.

Dean would kick his ass for working with a demon, Dean would just…

Dean's fingers are broken and his body is off doing God knows what right now, this very _second_.

"And?" he forces out.

"And his name is Rafe."

"Rafe?"

"And another thing Sam."

"Yeah?"

"You are in _way_ over your head."


	9. Chapter 9

**A.N.: Hello everyone! Posting this next chapter, hot off the press. :D Thanks so much for all of the reviews and love and care you guys have given to this sick, awful story. :-P You guys rock and I really appreciate it! Special thanks to Sharlot for the great ideas and great feedback, you're a superstar! Working on Chapter 10 now, so hopefully it won't be too long before we get some answers about Rafe. Okay, that's all I got! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Except for Rafe, yeah, he's mine.**

A guttural moan is the only thing that precedes the spark of Dean Winchester regaining consciousness, a fact that the demon acknowledges with a wide smile.

His vessel is like one of those prank candles that never blows out, no matter how hard or insistent the force is against him.

He beams, tapping the side of his head in a greeting. "Good morning sleeping beauty!" He calls out, earning himself the concerned looks of occupants of the cars passing him. "Glad to see you are finally awake."

Dean groans before metaphorically running a hand down his face, desperately trying to shake himself of the god-awful feeling of being ridden like a chaotic ride at carnival.

"Nope, sorry to tell you sunshine, but I'm still here." He chuckles at the enraged expletive that meets his ears. "You don't want me here? Well, I just have to say Dean, that hurts." He places his hand over his heart in mock pain.

There is a beat of silence before Dean flies into a heated list of demands from his captor.

"Take it easy, buddy. You slept through all the good parts anyway." he pauses, fingernails picking at the blood drying on his palm.

His eyes travel the length of his palm, hearing an audible hiss as he sees the bite mark embedded in the flesh.

"She was a feisty little wildcat, let me tell you. All into it, until she realized I was going to kill her. Then it was over-the-top horror movie dramatics. You should have seen it man, she sounded like a dying animal." he snorts as his mind is flooded with the blonde's terrified face, hair in wild disarray, her lips quivering as she begged for mercy.

A flash of rage and control hits him between the eyes so fast, that he can't stop his hands from jerking from the wheel.

"Fuck!" he growls, placing a hand to his head as if he can physically push Dean's spirit back into submission.

His vessel slams into the cage of his mind with so much brute force that the demon is momentarily blinded, unable to keeping from steering the vehicle into oncoming traffic.

He grits his teeth, hard, tasting the blood that blooms in his mouth. "You want to kill us both?" he pants, jerking harshly on the wheel as a semi's horn informs him that he is about to become a bug splattered on his grill.

Dean's grip wavers as logic begins to take place in his mind.

"That's it. You get yourself killed now; I'll just jump into the next Joe Schmoe that comes along. What would happen to Sam?" he wheezes out a pained breath, taking in the half a dozen wide eyed faces that glare at him through their windshields from the other side of the road.

He waves, smiling sheepishly at them.

He runs his hand, which is oddly shaking, down the good side of his face, breath escaping his lips in uneven pants. "Jeez Dean, remind me not to piss you off."

He stretches out into the seat as he feels Dean relinquish control once more. "That's better." He lifts a cigarette to his lips and takes a long drag. "I'm being nice to you. I haven't done anything to your baby, and barely even touched your brother. What do you care if I ice some bitch in some backwater town?"

The response is immediate and spat out in sharp tones.

"See that's your problem Dean. Well, one of them. I'm trying to help you."

Disbelief and mild curiosity tinge the edges of his consciousness, followed by a gruff comment of where he can shove his help.

He chuckles, he hates to admit it but he's actually starting to like Dean Winchester.

His vessel lets out an exasperated sigh, stating something about 'Not another one.'

His lips curl up in a smile, shaking his head with a soft chortle as Dean wonders what the hell it is that makes so many demons like him.

"Your heart." He answers, without hesitation. "Your soul. The fact that most of them just want so desperately to remember what it felt like to be human."

Dean is silent for a moment before quipping back. 'My heart's breakin' for ya, really.'

He guffaws. "You've got to be my favorite son of a bitch I've ever possessed." He pulls another long drag from the cigarette. "You're Kobe beef my friend."

He clicks on the turn signal as he pulls over into a diner. "You're going to make a hell of demon, man."

Pain that is the equivalent of being kicked in the balls passes through him as Dean takes a running leap towards the cage, his mind bleeding with ink colored eyes and a promise from a twisted dream double that he would become that which he hates most.

"You can fight all you want champ, but it doesn't change the fact that you are perfect material. Perfect clay to be molded." He turns the key off, finding it interesting as the car quiets, that the sounds of the Impala had some sort of relaxing effect on Dean.

A retort that is less heated and more anxious tickles his ears.

"What do I mean? Well, let's think about it Dean. Your mom was killed when you were a little kid, your Dad..." Images skim by his eyes. Images of begging for his father to notice what the hunting life was doing to him, and later the overwhelming _need_ for his approval, the tattoo of 'notgoodenough' etched just under his skin, the crushing weight of Sam, the suffocating worry that he would never make it up to his family, that he was never enough, that he could never be enough, the sick relief at the peace the deal brought him, the frantic fear at the ominous clicking of his metaphorical clock, the devouring gnaw of guilt and betrayal at all of Sam's pleading words.

He blinks, letting the myriad of emotions course through him like the wild staccato thump of his vessel's heart.

"Dean," he soothes. "You sure got a lot of shit swirling around up here. Oprah would have a field day with you."

He steadies his hands on either side of the wheel, forcing Dean's emotions back down where they belong. He can't get caught up like that again, not before...

"You don't have to worry," he starts, opening the door as he sniffs the air. He is instantly satisfied at the tantalizing scent of steak and even more importantly, hopelessness, billow up from the smokestack on top of the mom and pop's diner.

You could always count on humanity for some things...

"You'll get used to it." he pauses, stamping the cigarette out on the side of his arm. "I know I did."

He claps his hands together, his fingers forming a crooked flesh bridge as he rubs the palms against each other. His face blooms with a delighted expression and he looks like a delicious and expensive feast has been placed in front of him.

"Now, who's hungry?"


	10. Chapter 10

**A.N.: So I pulled a show and skipped forward in time. Sorry guys, I had to do it. Hopefully you like this chapter anyway. Working on 11 right now, thank you so, SO much for all of the reviews and alerts and favs and just time and effort you have put into this story! I appreciate it so damn much. For Lucydolly22, there will be hurt! Sam soon, I promise! He has to got toe to toe with the demon eventually and right now unless I have him trip over his shoelaces I don't think I can quite scratch that itch for you yet! LOL! But rest easy, it's coming. Sharlot, words can not explain how invaluable you have been to me in the preparation of this story, seriously, you're amazing. :D The rest of you...You guys rock!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

The last seventy two hours have been hell for Sam, only his heavy drooping eyelids have offered him a tiny reprieve in the last three days, closing like clockwork for fifteen minute intervals.

He rubs harshly at his gritty face, shoving his laptop away from him with one hand as it has failed to find him satisfactory answers once again.

Every cell in his body is twitching, demanding him to go out and _do_ something and he aches to answer its call.

The problem is, he's got nothing. No leads, no plans, no idea where to look next.

Rafe had made it a game for the first twenty four hours, causing pain and destruction wherever he went as a blatant calling card for Sam to respond to, but then as Sam raced to the mom and pops diner just off the highway, his heart a constant companion to his throat, his hands gripped so tightly on the steering wheel that he was astonished it hadn't splintered in his grasp, the demon had vanished.

There had been no sulfur, no clues, nothing. Just a handful of innocent folks injured in a highly suspicious explosion, all of them describing Dean to a T as the charming young man who had come in and eaten about four servings of pie. Sam might have laughed at that, the image so clear in his mind he felt like he could reach out and touch it, if one woman hadn't uttered that he was last seen flirting with a waitress by the kitchen before everything went up in a ball of flames. Two of the occupants had been sitting at the counter, leisurely enjoying burgers as they bantered about the football game last week. They didn't make it.

Ruby had warned him that they were in over their head that Rafe was a harbinger of carnage and was regarded in hell with an emotion equivalent to respect, but Sam didn't get it. Not until that moment, as he apologized to the sobbing widow, did he really, fully grasp the extent of the latest shit storm that had befallen the Winchester brothers.

He'd also been warned that Rafe had a zealous obsession with making things fun, even though that word had been twisted and tangled with the definition that Sam had come to know.

Sam had called in every favor from all the hunters he felt like he could he trust, pleading, begging, and demanding that they be on the lookout for the monster wearing his brother's face. But Rafe had gone silent, taunting Sam with his inability to figure out exactly what his plan was.

Sam had poured through dozens of photos of Rafe's victims. When Rafe was a human he was a brutal and efficient loan collector in the 50's, working for the highest paying Mob bosses to make sure the corrupt and rich got what was owed them. He also took special pleasure in breaking fingers and toes, enjoying the look of terrors on his victim's faces and sending a message to the rest that those who resisted would be punished. He was a monster long before hell had gotten its hooks in him.

But Sam still couldn't find the connection; he couldn't work out why Rafe had jumped into Dean. Was it just the regular hatred that all of their kind had for the Winchesters? Was he taking advantage of the opportunity to hijack a hunter? Or was there something more, something that he was missing that would put everything together?

He sucks in a mouthful of cold coffee, struggling to gain a knowledge that seems to be just out of his grasp. Every second the demon and his brother were MIA was like a red hot poker of anxiety in his gut. He would have traded all of his birthday and Christmas wishes over the years for normalcy and stability for just a scent of his brother.

The calendar mockingly displayed the date in front of him, a mere 110 days from when the timer they have both been fighting would run out.

Christ, he can't do this. Not without his brother, not without Dean…

His head finds its way into his palms, breath huffing out of him in a dejected sigh. He wishes he hadn't told Bobby that he needed him manning the other hunters, keeping track on anything that might sound like the demon riding Dean, because he needs someone here, urging him on, making him forget how fucking tired he is, distracting him from the absolute black hole of despair that is pulling at his insides, entreating him to give in to the soft comfort of surrender.

But he can't. Not with his brother's soul on the table. He just needs a break, something to miraculously come out of the woodwork and help him.

"Please," he whispers, not sure if he believes in God, but ready to believe in anything if it will help. "Just give me a sign, something, _anything." _ He pleads.

As if on cue, the door of his motel swings open, Sam's hand automatically goes to his gun, placing the barrel in line with the person who has just stormed in.

"Cute," she smirks, tossing a sack of food at the table. "You wanna put that away before you hurt yourself?"

"Ruby?" he asks, a mixture of confusion and exhaustion tainting his words. "What the hell are you doing here?"

She takes a hearty bite out of her chili fries, eyes fluttering in ecstasy. "These are _sinfully_ good." She moans.

Sam sighs, ignoring the fact that Ruby of all people just reminded him of Dean. God, he misses his brother.

"I said, _what_ are you doing here?" He still hasn't lowered his gun from her as she rolls her eyes at him.

"Really Sam? I bring you food and good news and this is the thanks I get." She retorts.

"I don't give a damn about the food. I didn't tell anyone where I was, so what the _fuck_ are you doing here?"

"You don't cover up your tracks as well as you think you do, stud." She scoffs, pulling a swallow from her soda.

He fingers itch to do damage to something other than a wall. "You shouldn't be here Ruby."

She shrugs. "Why? Because I'm an evil nasty demon that has saved your ass too many times to count or because you don't want me here?"

He groans. "Both. Neither. Just…" he pinches the bridge of his nose, willing away the cobwebs that have taken residence in his mind. "Leave."

Ruby stands, licking bits of food off of her fingers. "You look like shit, Sam."

He raises sleep deprived eyes to her in disbelief. "I said leave," He pauses and takes a step towards her. "Now!"

She holds both hands up, realizing that she has stepped in a hotel room with a hunter who short fuse has been lit. "Easy there Tex, did you not hear me?"

He contests with the violent urge to grab her by her fucking arm and manhandle her out the door as he takes a steadying breath. His heart and brain feel like they have been tied to the back of a truck and forcefully dragged through hot asphalt, but he can feel a tingle of '_pay attention'_ flashing in his mind.

"What?"

She sashays over to the table, taking a seat at the grossly indented chair that has housed the younger hunter for the better part of the last three days. "Jesus Sam, have you even showered?"

His head whips around as his eyes narrow in contempt.

"Sorry, not the point. I said, I have good news."

Sam looks at her as if she is speaking in tongues, the bounce in her statement completely contradictory to everything he has heard in regards to his brother.

"What?" he stutters. "What do you mean good news?"

"Just what I said Sam, good news."

"Well what? What did you find?" his fingers dig into her shoulder, forming a vice like grip on the female demon.

"No need to get handsy," she pauses, leaning into him. "Unless you want to, you know, get _handsy_."

Sam releases her with a puff of disgust, grinding his teeth together as he forces out. "Just tell me."

His body is rapidly losing the battle with the self-control he has been wearing thin, his fingers trembling as he clenches them into fists.

"Rafe knew Meg. In the biblical sense." She chuckles at the irony of that statement. "She also made him what he is, and he's here as a favor to the bitch."

Sam stares dumbfounded at her for a handful of seconds, blinking as if the motion might clear away the murky film he has been viewing the world through for the last couple of days, before stating. "A favor? What kind of favor?"

Ruby rolls one of her shoulders in a lazy half shrug. "No idea. But a favor for a demon," she breaks off with a slight shake of her head. "That's never a good thing."


	11. Chapter 11

**A.N.: Hey guys, I'm exorcising my right to the M rating I put on this puppy. Nothing too crazy, but demon!Dean gets some action (well, sorta) and if you don't like that or are not old enough to read that then don't read. Please. :D Other than that I think you will enjoy the chapter, and I'm working on Chapter 12 right now. Thank you again for all of the reviews and support, it means the world to me to know that you are enjoying this because it has been a blast to write! Special thanks to sharlot for being the best beta in the world, she's an amazing writer and the fact that she is taking time out of posting her own awesome story 'Dust Devils' (go read it, right now :D) to help me with mine is a testament to her character. Thanks again you guys!**

**Discalimer: Not mine. But Rafe is. :D**

His tongue travels the length of the fork, licking up the remainder of the dollop of cream with a lavish groan.

"Oh my god." He moans, smacking his lips.

"That good huh?" the waitress inquires, the click of her heels quieting as she stops mid step to observe the almost worship of his food.

"Oh, I'm telling you," he starts, flicking the hard plastic name tag pinned to her chest with a flirtatious grin. "Denise, best damn thing I've ever had in my mouth."

Her cheeks turn the same ruddy color as her painted lips as she stutters. "Well, I'm glad you like it."

He swoops back down for another mouthful, chomping into the flaky crust with another, almost embarrassing, groan.

She giggles, brushing back her golden braid from the front of her checkered apron.

"Sorry," he mumbles, casting his eyes downwards. "It's just really _fucking_ good."

She tsks at his use of language, before pointing one of her fingers to the corner of his mouth. "My, you've made quite a mess."

He darts his tongue out to claim the gooey substance, barely missing the tip of her finger as she pulls back with a gasp.

"My bad," he chuckles, waving his fingers at her. "I'm all sticky."

Frown lines appear on her freckled forehead, voice dipped in concern when she asks. "What happened?"

He surveys his broken fingers with a sheepish smile. "Oh jeez, I bet that looks bad." He places both of his hands palms down on the counter, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I'm a cage fighter." He confides with a smug grin. "I'm sure this looks nasty, but you should see the other guy."

Her concern disappears as she flashes a grin at him, cooing softly. "They look like they hurt."

He shrugs, licking bits of cherry off of his nails. "Nah, you get used to it."

"They just look," she reaches out with one hand.

"Scary?" he supplies, taking one of the wounded fingers in his other hand. "Watch this."

With a sickening crunch he forces the finger back into place, plastering on a grimace as she lets out a little squeal.

"Oh my goodness!" she cries, hands flying to her mouth in surprise. "How did you do that?"

He leans forward with a warm smile. "You break enough fingers and you learn that they all pop back into place with enough force."

She turns away to hide the blush on her cheeks. "Wow. I've never seen," she pauses, waiting for him to fill in the space with a retort.

"I didn't mean to freak you out," he promises, rolling the digit back and forth for show.

"No," she says, as she turns back towards him. "You didn't. I just, I don't know…" she breaks off, nervously twisting the edge of her frilled apron in her hands.

He pushes his empty plate away from him, eyeing her with the same greedy pools that he had just granted his food.

Her face turns impossibly redder, as she smiles shyly at him.

"Hey Denise, what do you say we get out of here?" He suggests, pulling a wad of bills from his jeans to toss down on the counter.

She nibbles her bottom lip and casts her gaze around the empty diner before nodding vigorously at him.

* * *

><p>Her shy girl routine melts away as soon as the lock is in place to her apartment.<p>

Just like he knew it would.

He backs her into her refrigerator, pinning her there with his arms as her hands deftly free his shirt from the confining buttons.

Her eyes are hungry as she strips him of the first layer of flannel, fingernails biting into his biceps.

"Jesus," she moans, as his teeth nip at the pulse point on her neck. "You're just all sorts of yummy aren't you?"

He hums into her neck, his palms cupping her butt from behind and lifting her up and up.

She pushes against him, moving their position to the kitchen island, her arms surprisingly strong for such a small woman.

"Damn Denise." He breathes, smiling as her hands help rid him of the T-shirt that clings tightly to him in all the right places.

"Lord Almighty." she whispers, fingers gliding along the toned skin of his belly, nails tickling the beginning of his happy trail. "Does any part of you not look like a God?"

He lets out a startled chuckle at that, resisting the urge to show her how ass backwards that statement is. "I just like to take care of myself." He murmurs.

She grins wickedly at him, ogling all of the flesh she has access to, her lips pressing into the planes of his stomach, teeth biting into the tender flesh. "Oh baby, you should let _me_ take care of you."

He laughs. "Guess that good girl thing was just an act?"

She smirks. "Worked didn't it?"

He guffaws again, pulling her face up to his for a hasty kiss. "You know, I think I may like you."

Her fingers dip into the waistband of his jeans. "Honey, you're about to love me."

* * *

><p>Okay, so humans are good for some things.<p>

Especially ones who were trying to prove their worth by screwing everything with a pulse.

He lets out a heady moan as her lips do something to him that shouldn't be possible by human limitations.

"Fucking Christ," he swears as she giggles softly.

Her hands grip into sweat sheened hips, red chipped nail polish leaving flakes of crimson on his skin that remind him of blood. Her nails cut into him with every little buck of his pelvis.

She makes soft noises of contentment as she lifts her head back up, stroking away the milky white substance around her mouth with the all the excitement of a seven year old capturing the last lick from an ice cream cone.

His head falls back as she moves back up his body, giggling as she takes in his red face and his bobbing Adam's apple.

"Did you like that?" she purrs, nuzzling the side of his face.

"Like it?' he pants. "Uh, yeah!"

"Good," she starts, running her hand down between his legs to squeeze his spent cock. "Do you think you are ready for round two?"

He smiles widely, nipping her collarbone. "Only if we even the playing field."

"What do you mean?" she asks innocently.

He bites into her flesh with a growl. "You have me laying here as naked as the day I was born,"

She grinds into him at the statement, pupils dilating. "And?"

"And you're still in your apron! While it's very hot, it's got to go." He moves his teeth to worry the button of her apron.

"Whatever you say." She agrees as he lifts it up and over her head.

He sees the container coming straight at him a second too late, the metal glinting in the stray beams from the mid afternoon sun, as tiny speckles of white dust his bare chest.

He snarls, body ricocheting against the offensive substance as a throb of hurt lances through his frame.

He shoves her off of him and rolls off to the side, smacking the falling salt shaker in the process.

He meets Denise's eyes, hoping that this little incident has not given anything away.

Her eyes widen like saucers as she grips the edge of her shirt to her chest. "Oh my god."

He looks down at his barren body, internally cursing at the thin wasps of smoke that curl off of his chest.

"Well fuck," he breathes, brushing off the remaining stubborn particles with a frustrated sigh. "I guess I have to kill you now."

Her lips quiver for the briefest second,green eyes filling with tears.

And then, the screaming starts.

* * *

><p>She tries to run, scrambling to bare feet as she trips over fallen furniture to try to get to the door.<p>

He wishes he had a knife or gun on him because the noises she is making are sure to alert the neighbors to her current predicament.

Not to mention the fact that it is fucking _annoying._

He grabs her by her ankles, bringing her body down on top of him in a mass of tangled, warm limbs that remind him of what he brought her here for in the first place.

"Denise," he starts, brushing back her wild hair with an almost tender caress.

Something in the way he touches her sends her flying into a frenzy worse than before, her shrieks rise to a decibel that he is pretty sure only dogs can hear as his large, capable hands close around her windpipe.

It isn't his preferred method of killing, but considering he doesn't have a stitch of clothing on him and he needs to shut her up _now_, it will have to do.

She's just about to gasp out her final breath, her emerald colored eyes widening to the point where he feels like they are going to take over the rest of her face when everything in the room tilts.

He shakes his head in confusion, his fingers losing purchase on her throat.

"What the?" he questions out loud, feeling her body slip bonelessly from his grip and to her shag carpet with a soft thud.

He backs away from her body, both of his hands cradling his head as he feeling a steady thump behind his eyelids, the pounding sensation setting of a firework of pain off in his borrowed cranium.

"Dean _fucking_ Winchester." He grunts, becoming quite familiar with the persistence present of the hunter that refuses to lie down and die.

"You don't understand Dean, she'll rat you out. You'll have more problems with the cops than before," he shakes his head again, hoping to expel the tether that Dean has clamped around his consciousness.

He stumbles forward on jelly legs, reaching out to the unconscious waitress to finish the job.

White hot agony spears through his body as he doubles over.

Jesus, it's like getting hit by a linebacker.

"Henrickson," he gasps, hoping to calm the man with the mention of the agent. "He'll be on your trail harder than ever, just let me…" his fingers crawl along the carpet, just a little more…

'_NO!' _the voice booms with burning bush authority, as his body bends in half, his insides on fire.

"Fine," he backs away, easing his jeans back on. "Fine, you win."

The presence of Dean Winchester beams, daring another hit to his solar plexus as the demon falls over with an 'oomph.'

He shakily gathers the rest of his belongings, stopping by the body to check the thready pulse of the girl, one of his hands completely out of his control.

She's alive.

It's only after he is on the outskirts of the town that the animal like grip of the possessed man eases, his strength spent for the moment.

Rafe slams his palm into the wheel, letting loose a string of curses as he feels his control bleed back into his vessel.

Dammit! That was too close.

He can't remember the last time someone has re-gained control for that long.

He runs a hand down his face, lighting up a cigarette and burning it up in record time, before he takes a healthy swig from the half empty whiskey bottle in the backseat.

"You're gonna regret that Dean," he begins, an idea forming in his mind as he takes the next turnoff on the highway.

His now steady hands flick open his cell phone, pressing the 2 key and watching as the screen lights up.

"Hello?" the voice that answers the phone is weary and worn thin and he can't help the smile that blossoms on his lips in response to it.

"Sammy!" he calls out. "Long time no talk!"

**A.W. I hope you Dean fans enjoyed this, cause I did. :P Coming up Rafe gets payback.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A.N.: Hello all! Here is the latest chapter for DW, I hope you enjoy it and I'm working on 13 right now. A big freaking thank you to everyone who has reviewed and read and also to my beta Sharlot who is just buckets of awesome! **

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

He fumbles for the phone with an agitated groan, completely disoriented as he flips it open without looking at the caller id.

"Hello?" he huffs out, palming his eyes, cajoling them into opening. No such luck, they are finally making their pickets and marching around in circle, refusing to function until he gets forty winks.

'Or forty thousand' he thinks with a wry grin.

"Sammy!" the voice on the other end calls out. "Long time no talk!"

His eyes fly open at that, hands gripping the phone so tight he swears he can hear it crack.

He's still not fully aware when he mumbles "Dean?" by instinct, instantly regretting the ammunition he has handed to the demon.

There is a low chuckle, menacing, the sound rips through him and reminds Sam that this is _not _his brother. "Close, but sorry kiddo, no cigar."

"Rafe!" He hisses, feeling rage simmering just under the surface at the demon.

"You know my name? Well, damn, that was supposed to be a surprise." his tone is all but pouting as he hears him shift the phone. "You're no fun Sammy."

Sam chortles bitterly. "I'm a riot, man. You should come here and find out."

There is a pause on the other line as if the demon is actually thinking about it before he laughs softly. "Nah. I think you should come to me."

Every sentence brings Sam more and more to life as he scrambles with his computer to pull up the GPS.

"Sounds good to me, where are you at?"

"Sam, you don't think I'm that stupid do you? You ruined the first surprise, I wouldn't dream of you wrecking this one." He sighs in disappointment. "How did you find that out anyway?"

"Where are you?"

"You working with demons there buddy? Have you learned nothing from the way I trained you? The way Dad trained you?"

Sam grits his teeth so hard he can taste blood. "Where _are _you?"

He hears a scream of a siren in the background as Rafe casually retorts. "Around."

"So, I thought I'm supposed to chase you. How can I do that if you don't give me hints?"

Rafe seems to think on that for a minute. "That's a good point."

"So, why don't you tell me? Give me a hint." Sam fights to keep his composure as he stares at the screen in front of him.

"I guess, I just thought you knew your brother better than that, that you know where I would take him."

Sam ignores the jab and continues. "I know my brother just fine, it's you I don't know."

"Me? Well Sammy, I'm a big ol' ball of fun. I go where the party is."

"Where's that?"

"Come on!" the demon yells so suddenly that Sam jumps. "I know you've been following my accomplishments, I know you've been on my trail this long. I thought you would be faster than this." He tsks. "How is that supposed to make me feel? How is that supposed to make your _brother_ feel?"

Sam swallows his venomous retort and mumbles. "Leave him out of this."

"Oh, he's out of it boy. You don't have to worry about that."

Sam jumps out of his seat, driven by the need to get to Dean. "What did you do to him?"

Rafe laughs and every time he does, it sounds less and less like his brother.

"I didn't do anything to him. He tried to play knight in shining armor and now...he's spent. Waking up is going to a bitch too. Imagine being on a tilt o' whirl while someone is sucker punching you in the gut." He winces. "Not my idea of a good time."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean! You're martyr of a brother just can't enjoy the ride, he has to be a savior." he spits the word from his mouth. "Who's going to be his savior Sam? You?" He chuckles harshly. "I don't think so; you don't even have your _heart _in this."

Sam tone becomes lethal. "Tell me where you are and we'll see how much heart I have in this."

"I'm sure we would, but that takes away the surprise factor and for me...it's just no fun."

"You sick fuck!" Sam roars, his emotion getting the better of him.

"None of us are perfect, Sam. Like you seem to have a bit of a temper, you should get that in check, or it's going to get the best of you."

Sam takes a quick breath into his lungs, the air doing nothing other than to give him more fuel for his fire. He takes another breath, slowly, his mind clearing on the exhale.

"If you think about it Sam, you know where I'm going."

Sam holds his breath, waiting to see if the demon is going to continue.

"One little hint and that is it. I'm here because of Meg, which I'm sure you know by now, and you know what Meg was going to do when she was tucked in tight to you. So tell me Sam, what am I going to do?"

Sam closes his eyes as a wave of distorted images floods his mind, the images filtering by so sharp and fast that he can't grasp onto any of them.

"You figure it out, and I'll see you soon. Oh and that GPS isn't going to be much help as it's only going to give the location of a busted phone in the middle of the highway, see ya!" he calls out before there is a violent crunch and the phone goes dead.

His body slides back into the chair, his hands weaving into his hair as he wills the images to make sense.

It's been awhile and besides his nightmares he has never revisited his own personal hell that Meg concocted.

But he'd do it. For Dean.

He'd do anything.

He lets the phone fall to the floor as he concentrates on the pictures, none of them having meaning beyond being filed away into the 'don't touch this shit **ever'** folder in his brain.

He braces one hand against the table as he allows his consciousness permission to tumble into the inky, evil thoughts.

"_Your brother killed my brother," she started. "You ever heard the saying an 'eye for an eye'?" she chuckled. "Comes from your God oddly enough."_

_Sam had slammed into the cage with as much force as he could muster, his presence winded already._

"_Oh Sammy, you just don't have it in you. You have better things in you. You weren't meant to fight me."_

_He screamed at her what the hell did she mean and she had laughed, his laughter sounding crooked as it escaped his lips._

"_You'll get it someday champ, but for now just know, it's going to be a fun ride."_

_He'd fought the blackness for as long as he could manage, his fingers digging into the weak hold he had on consciousness as she taunted and teased him._

_Right before he fell into the blackness, unable to remember anything until he woke up on Bobby's floor, his arm on fire and his brother weakened and bloodied besides him he heard Meg cackle. "Always go for the heart Sammy."_

He jolts back into reality with a gasp, his hands twisted into the denim of his jeans.

She'd gone after hunters first, not really trying to make a dent in their population, just hoping that she could make Sam target number one.

Then she'd called Dean, led him on a wild and heartbreaking goose chase, then there was Jo...

Knowing the history both of the Winchesters had with the female hunter, she meant to hurt Jo, make it stick so that she would become one more casualty on the long list that was pinned to the resume of the Winchesters.

Then Bobby...but she'd been outsmarted, the old hunter had caught on and trapped her and she'd never gotten to finish what she started.

Flashes pass before his eyes like an old home movie, the house before him feels warm and inviting, the front yard perfect for a tire swing and a dog.

"Oh god," he moans, his eyes widening in horror.

_The image of Meg curls her lips up in a twisted smile as she taunted. "And where is the heart Sam? Come on college boy, you know this."_

His stomach lurches as he grabs on to his cellphone.

"Bobby? I know where he's going. He's going to Lawrence. He's going home."


	13. Chapter 13

**A.N.: Hey guys, going to go ahead and post the latest chapter of DW now and hope you enjoy it (after the finale!) You guys rock and thank you endlessly for all of the amazing reviews and support. Special thanks to Kat to always taking time out of her busy life to help me with this story, you're incredible. :D**

**Disclaimer: Rafe is mine, and that's about it.**

He watches the phone complete its arch in the air, fascinated by the tiny pieces it breaks into as it smashes onto the pavement.

He wonders what a body would do…

There is a groan at the back of his mind.

"What do you think, Dean?"He tilts his head out of the window, the crisp air blasting his face. "An eight? The dismount was beautiful, but it just didn't stick that landing." He grimaces.

"Dean?" he questions, waiting for his vessel to come back around.

"I know you're awake in there sunshine, nothing gets you up and around like your little brother's panicked voice."

He feels the steady pulse of rage hum just under his skin.

"Whoa now, we're driving. You pull one of your crazy stunts now and well…splat." He shrugs and breathes out a relieved puff of air as Dean's hackles go down.

"Where are we going?" he taps out an offbeat rhythm with his bent finger, whistling. "Oh, you'll know soon enough. And Sam, if he is even half as smart as you think he is, he'll be on his way too."

His hand clenches into a fist in front of him.

"He's fine, Dean. Sounds like he hasn't slept in a few days, but _I _haven't done anything to him. Chill out."

His fingers fall back flat on the dash.

"Isn't it _so_ much easier to get along with me. I'm not a bad guy." He slides a hand along the dashboard. "Just having a little fun."

He hisses as a booming scream sounds in his mind.

"Oh yeah, her." He lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug. "Hell...I don't know, I got bored." He winks at the soccer man in the minivan he passes.

"Ease up on the throttle there tiger." he chuckles, feeling his foot shift and move. "I'm letting you drive your car, man. You like driving your car." He pats his chest in a comforting motion.

Confusion and hatred twinge just behind his eyes, the pulse weakening as Dean Winchester expels most of his energy.

He pulls the tether of his control back to his chest, tightening his grip as tight as he can manage before he states. "We're going home, Dean."

His grin is feral as his vessel bellows out his rage.

* * *

><p>It's a nice house.<p>

He's torn by the force ripping through his vessel, the current of affection and fear waging war with hatred and shame. It's a potent mixture and he finds himself bracing both hands against the steering wheel.

Dean's scared. Shaking, trembling, terrified. It's a new emotion for Rafe. He's been upset and worried since being possessed, but no fear for himself, no fear for what might happen to him, only to others. Rafe has never met a more self-righteous son of a bitch. But now, his heart is hammering, his frame unsteady, his control paper thin.

This...this is new. This is _raw._

He closes his eyes as Dean fights off the forbidden memories grappling to take the forefront of his mind.

He won't allow Rafe to see this, not this.

He takes a quivering breath, his words the only steady thing in his being. "Home sweet home."

Dean's weakened himself at this point, unable to do much more than plead.

Rafe runs a hand down his face, taking a quick swig from the flask in his pocket.

"I'm sorry Dean, but what Meg wants," he creaks the door open, heaving his vessel deeper and deeper down into the black. "That bitch, gets."

His footsteps are uneven as he stumbles up the porch, amazing that Dean is still able to dispute him at this point.

He's maybe even a little impressed.

He raises his hand to knock on the door, noticing belatedly that his fingers still look a little bit like a puppets, bent in unnatural directions.

He pulls them back into place right as the door opens.

She doesn't look much different, her hair cut into an angular bob now and her eyes freer than the last time he saw her.

Pity. That she would only know peace for a brief time.

"Dean?" she questions, brushing her hair back behind her ears.

He grins, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. "Hey, Jenny."

She smiles in return. "Hey." She pauses, looking out the door for his partner in crime. "What are you doing here?"

"Just in the area." He shrugs. "Thought I would check in, see how you are doing."

"I'm good. I'm good, thanks." She gestures to the inside of the house. "Did you want to come in?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that'd be great."

She places a hand on his back as she guides him in.

* * *

><p>"So," she starts, placing the glass of milk in front of him. "Where's Sam?"<p>

He takes a large gulp, nibbling on the edge of his sandwich. "Sam? Oh he's...around."

She pulls out a chair. "Around? Everything okay?"

He looks down at his plate. "I guess." he begins, picking at the bread. "Just you know...drama."

"Wanna talk about it?" she asks.

He looks up at her earnest expression. "We're just going in two different directions you know?"

"Family can be tough."

"I mean, I say black and he says white. He says up and I say down. It's like we're speaking two different languages." He shrugs. "And I'm not very fluent in emo girl."

She snorts. "I've never seen anyone like the two of you. You are so close. The more you love them, the crazier they drive you."

He chuckles softly, tearing off a chunk of the sandwich. "You talk like you speak from experience."

She grins. "Yeah, Sari is quite a handful, and she's not even a teenager yet." she shakes her head. "I don't even want to think about it."

"What about Ritchie?"

"Just started kindergarten. I have to pick him and Sari up in about an hour."

"Damn, has it been that long?" He ticks off the years on his fingers.

"Yup, two years. Anyway, I just want you to know that you and Sam will make it through this."

"You think?" he questions, ripping away another section of his food. "Cause I'm not so sure."

She reaches over to take the empty milk glass, patting his arm in the process. "Dean, I'm a mom. I know these things." she winks at him.

"Yeah, you're right." he starts, feigning reaching for his cellphone as his hand closes around the hilt of his gun. "I should give him a call."

She turns towards the sink. "I bet you he would like that. And you'll probably feel better too." She places the glass in the sink with a soft clink that covers up his own fingers clicking the safety off.

"Thanks for the advice, Jenny." He shifts the gun in his pocket, sliding it out slowly.

A knock sounds at the door.

"Shit." he hisses, stuffing his broken digits back into his pocket.

"What?" she inquires, turning to face the sound of the knock.

He chuckles. "Just scared me. Sorry."

She looks at him oddly for just a moment before a second knock interrupts what she is about to say.

"Come on in!" she yells, her eyes squinting as she stares at Dean.

"You just let strange people in your home?" he jokes, swallowing the last bite with an uneasy grin.

"You okay, Dean?" she questions as the click of the door closing fills the room.

"Yeah, of course. Being in this house is just..." he trails off and she shakes her head chagrined.

"Oh. Duh. I'm so sorry, I didn't even think of that."

He waves off her concerns. "No worries. Were you expecting company?"

She smiles as the other person enters the room.

"Hey, thanks for coming over."

He doesn't have to turn around to know who is behind him, the whole rooms buzzes with her presence. A presence he is not prepared for.

"I told you I would." she retorts, moving to where she can see him. "You just gonna sit there boy or are you going to say hi?"

He flinches at the unexpected visitor, all of his warning bells telling him to abort. "Hey there Missouri. Been awhile."

She'll know, if he doesn't get out of here right now, she'll know.

"Awhile? Been a lot longer than that." She moves to stand by the table. "Where's your brother?"

"We're kinda on the outs, I was just about to call him." He shoves away from the table, waving his cell phone in lieu of an explanation.

"Is everything alright?" she questions, taking another step towards him.

"Yeah, just, you know. Brother crap." he smiles and points to her. "What are you doing here?"

She chuckles. "Jenny here has me come over about every six months to do a sweep of the house. Ain't been nothing in two years, but she wants to be sure."

Jenny shrugs before smiling warmly. "Nothing more important than family. Right Dean?"

"Right. So, I'm gonna go make that call," he breaks off and go to move, jolting when Missouri's hand closes on his arm, her heartfelt inquiry about his well-being cut into by her gasp of surprise.

"Jenny, you have to run." she starts, pulling her hand back as if she has been physically burned. "He's a," her words are halted as he rams the butt of the gun into her forehead and she crumples to the ground.

"Oh my god." Jenny shrieks, backing up towards her sink, her petite hands scouring the counter for a weapon.

He looks down at his victim, before his eyes flicker into blackness. "Fucking physics." he grumbles. "They always give away the ending."

She doesn't even have a chance to scream before he descends on her.

This is not part of the plan, but hey, he can improvise.


	14. Chapter 14

**A.N. So, if you are keeping track we are on Chapter 14. The Hurt! Sam chapter that I promised Lucydolly22, I hope you enjoy it. :) Also there is a particular Impala reference in here that was inspired by Numpty's breathtaking new story "The trick is to keep breathing" (read it...right now!) and then of course we have Sharlot. She is the best beta a girl could ask for. She's busy posting her own epic and amazing tale "Dust Devils"(check it out, you won't regret it!) and yet, she still takes time out to help fix my stories. Not just by saying "it's good." or "it's bad.", but by telling me what works and what doesn't. She encourages me and makes me better and I can never repay her for it. So this one is for you three and for anyone else who enjoys it. A million thanks to all of you, your support means more to me than I can express. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own it and that just makes me SO sad every time I have to say it.**

His words crash out of him in perfect timing with the crack of lightning that splits the sky in two. The wheels of his newly acquired vehicle squeal under the slick pavement as the speedometer flirts with the maximum speed.

The man on the other end of the phone curses softly before saying. "Jesus Sam, take it easy. I can hear that bucket of bolts screaming from here."

He huffs an annoyed breath into the receiver. "Well, it's just going to have to suck it up."

"Son," He can hear Bobby remove his cap and scratch lightly at the disarray of hair on his head.

"I know what you're going to say Bobby; he has an hour on me."

"How do we know he hasn't,"

Sam cuts into Bobby's statement with a harsh. "Because I know!"

Silence leaks into the conversation so quickly that Sam wonders if the older man has hung up.

Not that he would blame him.

He pants out a toxic breath, the air around him feeling thick with panic. "Sorry Bobby, I'm sorry."

"It's alright."

"No, it isn't. I'm being an asshole, but I know that Rafe wants me to see what he is doing. And not just the aftermath, but the actual deeds. He wants me to see Dean's hands doing terrible things. To be a witness." His voice drops to a whisper as his mind readily supplies the images.

His stomach plummets to his knees with an almost audible plop.

"How do you know, Sam? I ain't trying to get you all riled up again, but we don't have time to guess."

Sam closes his eyes and forces bile back down his throat. "Because...it's what Meg was going to do."

Bobby is silent a moment longer as Sam passes a motorist that flips him the bird.

"Okay Sam, what's the plan?"

"I'm on the outskirts of Lawrence now. I'm going in."

"Not by yourself you ain't." Bobby grumbles and Sam can hear the soft jingle of his keys.

"I have to Bobby. I know he's going to let me in because that is part of his MO. If he thinks he's outmatched who knows what the hell he will do."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Bobby's tone is a warning and despite his respect and affection for the man Sam barrels right past it.

"I need you as backup Bobby. So many things can go wrong, and there are already more lives on the line that you, me and Dean."

"What do you mean?"

Sam switches the phone to his other ear as he adjusts his grip on the wheel. "I mean, Missouri and Jenny."

Another pregnant pause. "How do you know?"

"I tried to call both of them, no answer."

"That don't mean,"

"I know what Meg was going to do Bobby, trust me. That's exactly what it means."

"Dammit!" he mutters as Sam can hear him wearing holes in his carpet. "You can't do this alone, Sam. You need help."

"No, I need you to trust that I have a plan. I need to have someone on the sidelines waiting for me and Dean."

"This don't make sense, boy. I can help, let me help."

Sam catches a glimpse of his bloodshot eyes in the rear view mirror, thinks of the humiliation and fear that Dean is likely saturated in right this instant.

"You're helping by waiting in the wings. I need to do this Bobby..." he lets his voice trail off as his voice threatens to betray him. "Please."

A tense minute passes before Bobby sighs. "Fine. But I'm going to be right outside of the city, headed there now. You need anything you call." His voice turns deadly serious. "I know that you have a connection with this thing because of Meg, that don't mean you know it. It's a monster Sam, don't put nothing past it."

Sam drags in a lungful of air. "Thanks Bobby. Thank you. I just...couldn't handle if anything happened to anyone else because of this. I know he's waiting for me. I can feel it in my gut."

"I get it. I'll be waiting for you and Dean to give me a call when this is all over."

"You got it. I'm going to bring him back Bobby."

"I know you are. Just don't lose yourself in the process." His voice breaks off at the end, crumbling under the weight of sitting this one out.

"Talk to you soon Bobby."

The phone line goes dead as Sam spies the bright 'Welcome to Lawrence' sign.

Despite everything he snorts in exhausted amusement and mutters. "Up yours, sign."

* * *

><p>Her body shimmers in the wake of the rain, black gleaming paint almost glowing in the reflection of the water coating her.<p>

She looks like an unmanned steed, stoic and loyal, waiting for her owner to return.

Sam's heart breaks as soon as his hand makes contact with her.

"Don't worry girl, I'm going to get him back." He stands to his full height, squaring his shoulders.

The pathway up to the house looks impossibly long, each step he takes making the road appear as if it has stretched itself ten feet.

He can imagine what his life might have been like here, the men he and Dean could have been if not for that fucking demon.

And now here they were, twenty four years later, still being manipulated by the chosen children of Hell.

Sam doesn't think he has ever been this furious. He wants nothing more than to tear into the demon, make him pay for all of the terrible things he has subjected Dean to.

His hand rests on the doorknob, suddenly nervous about what he is going to find inside.

He takes a deep breath, turns the knob to the side and hears a voice call out tentatively. "That you Sammy?"

_NotDeanNotDeanNotDean._

He closes the door behind him with a heavy click, and he wonders if his idea isn't going to end up getting them both killed.

"Make sure you close the door behind you, wouldn't want anything getting in..." he breaks off and chuckles. "Or out."

Sam comes around the corner expecting to be greeted by bloodshed and horror.

He's surprised to see his brother's hand cradling one side of his face, the fallen body of Missouri Mosely by his feet.

Jenny's strapped to a chair, her mouth bound, her eyes defiant.

Her gaze flits to him, drawing strength from the younger Winchester.

"Surprised?" Rafe begins. "Me too."

He moves his hand and Sam can see the angry red marks that trail down his cheek.

"Turns out if your ass gets tormented by a poltergeist and you survive, you're much less likely to lay down and die." He chucks her under the chin with a grin. "Jenny here turned out to be a fighter. A biter and well," he runs a hand down his wound. "A scratcher."

She turns her head from him in disgust, her eyes shooting daggers at him before she shifts her entire being as far away from him as she can manage.

"Oh come on Jenny," he coos, bending down on his knees. "Don't be that way. I was just saying I'm impressed."

"Leave her alone." Sam starts, taking a step towards the pair.

"Or what? You gonna ride in and save her? I don't see your horse. Is it a Trojan? Or invisible? No, let me guess." He chuckles, his hand petting Jenny consolingly on the head. "It's a unicorn."

Sam's hands tighten into fists at his sides as his brother's face lets out a malicious guffaw.

"You're too soft, Sam." He shakes his head with a soft grin. "You wear your heart on your sleeve. You're an easy kill."

Sam puffs out his chest. "You really think so? Why don't you let them go and we'll see just how _easy_ I am."

His brother's hands braid together and Rafe cracks his knuckles, taking special care to make sure Sam sees the grotesque way that his broken fingers don't quite make it back to their original formation.

"You know," He starts, taking a knife from the kitchen counter and gliding it along Jenny's exposed temple. "You have a good point. I mean, the things I was going to do to Jenny here." he shudders in pleasure. "They were inspired."

Jenny's brave facade cracks as she lets out a soft sob.

"But you know, I've always been a sucker for family vs. family. There is something so sweet about turning against your own blood and Lord knows, Dean has wanted to beat the shit out of you for _such_ a long time." He grins chaotically, the expression jagged and wrong on his brother's face.

Sam finds himself fighting for breath, caught off guard by the insanity radiating from his brother's face.

_NotDeanNotDeanNOTDEAN._

"What are you waiting for? Let them go."

His brother's mouth turns into a soft smile as he nods in confirmation, bending down to untie Jenny's hands.

It happens so fast Sam can't track the movement as Rafe slams the chair into the counter, Jenny's head bouncing against the tile like a rag doll as she crumbles to the ground.

"NO!" Sam bellows.

Rafe smirks down at the fallen blonde's body. "You got what you want buddy, we're all alone."

Sam feels his eyes go hard as he stares down the monster in his brother's body. "Perfect."

"Oh man, I got to tell you. I'm excited. An epic battle between brothers and there is much anger in you Skywalker." He chuckles, kicking Jenny's body away from him as if she is little more than trash.

"You're going to pay for this, Rafe." Sam swears.

"How?" He laughs, jumping over Missouri's form. "Not like you know how to get me out. Not without hurting your brother." He wiggles his fingers. " And we both know that you can't stand to cause Dean anymore pain."

Sam takes another step forward. "Dean would understand."

Rafe chortles. "You sure give Dean a lot of credit. You sure he would understand? That you couldn't be bothered to let a demon have a little bit of fun and make sure your brother stays alive because it isn't _right. _That's pretty fucking selfish."

"Selfish?"

"Yeah, you know Dean's going to hell to roast like a marshmallow because of you and all you can think of is saving a bunch of people who would never do that for you."

"Shut up."

Rafe places a hand to his heart in mock injury. "Sammy, you're just so mean to me. But you know what they say, sticks and stones may," he pauses reaching for a finger.

Sam feels a white hot flash of rage as he slams his fist into his brother's face.

Rafe licks away the line of blood coming from his mouth, his teeth flashing in a demented grin. "So you came ready to play after all?"

Sam stares at his hand in horror, the crimson color of his brother's blood sticking out in blotches on his knuckles.

Dean's blood.

Oh God...

His thoughts end as the side of his head is thrust violently into the door's threshold.

Stars swim in front of his eyes as Rafe cackles. "Round one. Fight!"

* * *

><p>He can't hit him. Not him. Jesus, what the fuck is he supposed to do?<p>

"Having an internal conflict there big guy?" Rafe taunts as Sam blocks a heavy hit from landing into his chest, the force causing something to snap despite deflecting it.

"And here I was thinking you had grown a pair." One of his punches catches him upside the ear, instantly causing the room to spin into a high pitched wailing abstract painting.

"Oh, that's got to hurt." He snickers. "Fight back, dude." He heaves his fist up into the air starting a trajectory towards Sam's face.

The hit resounds in the small kitchen with a loud boom as the younger Winchester fights the urge to keel over.

Rafe takes a step forward, his body leaning up and over the bent Winchester. "Did that one take you down? Really?"

His chin is gripped and pulled up cruelly for the demon to give his assessment.

"Split lip, black eye, busted eardrum, nice little cut on your head" he pauses, poking the spot where he had landed a blow on his chest.

Sam stifles a cry.

"Broken rib, oh, and I guess your nose is still broken from our last encounter." Rafe taps the tip of the younger man's nose with a mocking smile.

"That's all it takes to take down the great Sam Winchester?" he scoffs. "I thought I taught you better than that bro." Rafe retorts, turning away from his victim to retrieve his knife.

Sam sweeps one of his legs under the demon and grins as he lets out a startled yelp, before he tumbles down to the floor. "My brother taught me better than that you piece of shit." He spits.

Sam takes the momentary distraction to loop his arms and legs around the demon's surprised form, his fingers locking in a vice around his body.

The demon snorts. "You gonna hug the evil out of me there buddy?"

"Not quite." Sam shifts to make sure Rafe doesn't have an inch to move.

The demon's eyes look Sam over, completely unimpressed with what he finds.

"You've outworn your welcome, Rafe." Sam hisses.

The demon chuckles, trying to twist out of Sam's grip.

Sam's made that mistake before, Rafe isn't going anywhere.

"You been eating your Wheaties there son?" Rafe teases, wiggling each limb to try and get free.

Sam tightens his hold on the demon, not at all surprised when Rafe rears his head back and slams it forward.

He cries out, but remains steadfast in his duty as his lips part to begin the exorcism. He ignores the tangy taste of blood dripping onto his lips as the words fly from his mouth.

Rafe laughs. "Doesn't matter, you don't know where the binding link is." He guffaws. "So, you see _ hero, _your plan has a fatal flaw."

The smug expression doesn't falter on Sam's face and the stolen eyes in his brother's face look nervous for just a beat.

"Actually, I do." He whispers, pausing the exorcism to send a Dean Winchester style wink directly at the demon's face.

For the first time since this whole thing has started Rafe looks uneasy, he shakes his head and huffs out. "What?"

"Yeah," Sam begins sliding another line or two of the exorcism in. "Denise was nice enough to tell me, since she saw you naked. I guess you didn't think to cover that up." Sam maneuvers one of his hands into his brother's back pocket, feeling the familiar weight of the lighter there, hoping that he can be swift enough to get to the binding link before the demon can stop him.

He's not prepared for the attack this time, the weight of his brother's borrowed face and his collide with a loud crack as his hand jerks and the lighter clatters to the ground. Sam feels his brain put in a request for unconsciousness, a request he vetoes with a frustrated and pained grunt. He continues on with the exorcism, forcing his arms to keep their charge captured.

Something has changed in the last ten seconds, but Sam can barely concentrate on finishing his words, let alone why the fear has fled Rafe's eyes.

"You almost had me." Rafe concedes before he manages to catch one of Sam's arms in between his own, forcing down pressure on it with a sound akin to kindling snapping.

Sam's recitation cuts off and transforms into a hoarse cry as he steels himself against the pain.

The eyes in front of his flood with blackness as he feels his leg being submitted to the same torture.

"No," his brother's lips tremble, hazel reappearing in his eyes. "No."

Sam is shoved away violently, his form meeting up with the back of one of the kitchen chairs as it tumbles down on top of him. The younger hunter's body curls in protectively on itself to try and fend off any more attacks from his assailant.

Several seconds of silence pass, Sam willing away the frantic heartbeat pounding through his frame, before he lifts his head from the sanctity of his folded arm.

He thinks he sees Rafe reaching for the lighter, fingers barely skimming the object before it is whacked away with a shaking hand. Rafe bites off a curse.

What the…

He doesn't have time to process what just happened as his good eye sees the flash of his brother's gun leaving his jacket pocket, the fingers trembling as it clicks off the safety.

"No," Sam groans, forcing himself to sitting position. "No Rafe, don't!"

The gun stops its movement, "Has to be done," is gritted out.

"No, I'll do anything!" Sam cries, his face contorted in fear, his impending grief bleeding into his words. "_Please."_

"Sorry," the gun moves back into the soft fleshy part of his brother's throat.

"NO!" Sam screams, pushing forward with his usable arm.

"I'm sorry, Sammy."

The voice is soft and loving. A voice he has heard a million times, in a million different situations. A voice that could never be duplicated.

"_That's it Sammy, just one more step."_

"_Don't slam the door, Sammy."_

"_Slow down Sammy, you'll choke."_

"_You did it, Sammy!"_

"_Okay Sammy, just this once,"_

"_Lighten up Sammy!"_

"_Be careful, Sammy."_

"_Thanks, Sammy."_

He watches his brother's face light up with regret and pain as he catalogs each and every injury on his brother's person. He swallows back the watermelon sized lump that has suddenly lodged itself in his throat before he questions. "Dean?"

The smile his brother throws back his way is shaky, but the love and regret in his eyes is unmistakable as he whispers. "Hey, Sammy."

Sam scrubs a hand across his face, hoping to disguise some of the damage his brother has been forced to cause, wincing as his nail catches on his split lip.

Dean's face falls as he mutters. "Dude." The one word conveys so much that Sam feels a rush of emotion jolt through him.

This is his brother. _Dean_.

God, he's missed him.

"What? How?" Sam licks his dry lips, a feeling of utter terror starting a slow burn in his gut as he keeps his eye on the gun. "What are you doing?"

"Saving you." Dean answers, as if it should be obvious.

"No," he shakes his head, recognizing the self-sacrificing look sparking in his brother's eyes. "Don't, Dean."

"I'll see you around, Sammy." He winks, taking one final breath as he caresses the piece under his chin.

The slow burn turns into a raging inferno. "Dean, NO!"


	15. Chapter 15

**A.N.: Hey Guys, I haven't had a chance to respond to reviews from the last chapter yet, sorry about that! It has been a crazy and challenging week and I'm going to post this chapter while I have the time. Thanks to all of you, but mostly to my beta Sharlot. She made some amazing suggestions that really gave this chapter the 'umph!' I was looking for. I admire her so much for challenging me, plus, she a damn swell individual. Hope you all like the latest installment, thanks again! **

**Disclaimer: Not mine, although Rafe and all the bastardy things he does are all my idea. :P **

It's pretty harrowing seeing your sibling's face turn into a molten, blaring flare of distress as he pleads for you not to do something you know has to be done.

His hands are shaking as he shoots Sam a wink that he hopes conveys a lifetime of unspoken truths.

Sam doesn't understand, can't comprehend the black hole of pure evil that Rafe is and Dean can't take the chance he will get in one last punch to their life. He's going to hell anyway, what does he have to lose?

Oh Jesus, Sam, don't cry.

He falters for a half a second, genuine fear, brewing his insides into a bubbling mess of slop. Or at least it feels that way.

"Please Dean," Sam begs, tears tracking down his face. "You don't have to do this."

He smiles at him. "Promised I would keep you safe." His finger twitches on the trigger, his body sucking in one last gulp of air before he presses down with all the strength he can manage from the mutilated digit.

Suddenly, he feels like he is on the top of a roller coaster, his whole frame tensing up in preparation for that breathtaking drop.

He hears the gun go off, he feels his knees give out, he watches his brothers face turn savage as he lunges for Dean's falling body.

Is this the end?

It's not that bad...

* * *

><p>The younger Winchester's howling sobs are the first thing that reaches his ears as his eyes spy the bullet that has lodged itself in the ceiling.<p>

Fuck, that was close.

A second longer and he would have been ejected from the body as he watched Dean's brain matter splatter the pristine white tile behind him.

Sam's mouth is uttering "Please" and "No" and "Dean" as if it is stuck on an endless loop of sappy prayers.

He smirks internally, deciding that he is going to play dead for a minute or so to really let the sting sink in.

The younger Winchester's monster paws are quaking as he pulls his brother's form into his lap, tears dampening the dirty flannel that Dean's body is donned in.

"Oh God," he hisses, hands tightening around his form in a broken hug. "Please."

Rafe lies perfectly still as Sam starts to rock him, the noises he is making quickly climb into hysteria.

Sam's skims a hand through Dean's hair, tucking his head under his chin, bereft at the thought that he has lost his brother.

And then, his thoughts catch up to his bellowing heart, his eyes squinting as he pulls away a hand untainted by blood.

"What the…" his words catch in his throat as he maneuvers Dean's body away from his, hunter instincts telling him something is definitely wrong.

He tilts his head up, glimpsing the bullet in the ceiling as one of Rafe's hands flies out and clasps him on the back of the neck.

"Fuck!" Sam hisses, pushing away with his good hand.

Rafe pulls the younger hunter's face towards his own, relishing the kaleidoscope of fear, relief and anger fluttering in Sam's eyes.

"Don't fucking touch me." Sam spits, struggling against the iron like grip around his neck.

"Oh don't be that way Sammy boy!" Rafe retorts, letting out a skull splitting laugh. "This is good news, your brother isn't dead. "

He releases Sam with another chuckle, his grin taking over his face as Sam scrambles one handed towards the back of the wall.

"You can't fool me Sam." Rafe begins, bouncing up to his feet. "You're so happy Dean isn't dead, you reek with it."

Sam leverages himself to a standing position, tucking his broken arm into his side.

"He did however totally knock himself out, so I don't think he is going to be able to come to your rescue again."

Sam glares at him, his disgust plain and clear on his face.

"What? Lying there with you weeping and crying out your brother's name...thinking he might be dead. No way I couldn't take advantage of that." he snorts.

Sam's face continues to contort with anger, rage, malice. Good, he's on the right track.

Rafe shrugs and rifles through his jacket to find the weapon he knows lies in wait.

"What are you doing?" Sam hisses, taking a step or two forward, looking lethal despite the fact that his arm is swinging uselessly from his side like a meaty club.

"Where did I put that?" Rafe grumbles, his fingers dancing along the object. "Ah! There it is."

The youngest Winchester's eyes narrow into slits, his voice pitched low as he murmurs. "I said, _what _are you doing?"

Rafe grins, the expression cracking along his face like lines in the sand as he whispers. "Hey Sammy, wanna see a magic trick?"

Sam's eyes hone in on his brother's fingers, dragging along a vial filled with a foul looking substance. His mouth opens in an astonished gasp as he realized just what the demon has planned next.

Rafe has to choke down a childish giggle as he watches the internal fire drill of panic that flashes across Sam's face.

"What the fuck is that?" He looks on almost mesmerized as Rafe twirls the syringe like a baton in his fingers.

"This," he begins, tapping the tip of the needle against one of the protruding veins in the crook of his vessel's arm. "Is plan B."

Sam takes another step forward. "Wait, don't."

Rafe smirks before sliding the needle in, very aware of Sam's pitiful gasp of "No."

"Slid in just like butter."

Sam's panic reached a near hysteria as he lets out a broken chuckle, unaware of the sound until it catches in his throat.

"What's so funny?"

"It's just you didn't really do that right? I'm dreaming or hallucinating or..." he breaks off, watching Rafe's thumb teasing the plunger. "What is that?"

"Feel like taking a guess?"

"What _is_ that?" Sam roars as Rafe shakes his head.

He stares at the maroon colored liquid sloshing against the side of the vial.

"The druggies I bought it off of called it "Devil's spit." It's supposed to stop your heart and when you wake up you think you're in hell. Mostly used in gang fights and initiations and shit like that."

He strokes Dean's broken finger down the glass.

"Put it down." Sam seethes, his barely contained rage making his body hum with power.

"I was thinking we could do a trail run. Since you know, your brother's going there anyway." He flicks the top of the depressor with a careless smile.

Sam's good hand bunched at his side. "No."

"No?" Rafe shrugs. "You sure? I'd really like to see if it's all that, or if they are a bunch of pussies."

"Stop." Sam grits.

"Make me?"

"What?" The young hunters face loses its edge for just a second as he stares at the demon in surprise.

"I said, make me."

"What?"

"Come on, Sam! Make me. Stop me. Hurt me."

Sam's eyes blaze with the weight behind the demons words.

"I can't."

"I'm not talking about your brother. Although that would be a lot of fun."

Stay focused Rafe...

"I'm talking about you using your super Jedi mind powers, I'm talking about you saving the day..." he pauses before chuffing out. "For once."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sam rages.

Rafe slams a palm into Dean's forehead. "Duh! What do you think I am talking about? You did it once, a long time ago when you watched your brother's skull pepper the wall. Remember?"

Sam's face goes stark white for a moment, before becoming harsh. "How do you know about that?"

"Because Dean knows. Just like I know all about that summer you guys lived out of the back of an abandoned van, hunting a pack of werewolves through the Himalayas."

"Shut up."

"Make me. You're dying to Sam. Dying to let loose on me," he pauses, wiggling the needle into the flesh another inch. "Do it."

"I can't!" he yells. "Don't you get it? All of you goddamn demons!" he screams. "I don't have any of your chosen one bullshit powers anymore."

Rafe winks. "Oh, that's what you think Skywalker." He holds his arm out. "Try it. I won't even do anything."

Sam stares at the poison swimming around in the container before he takes a deep sigh, shedding all of his fears and regrets on the exhale.

He holds out a hand, his eyes closing as his forehead creases in concentration.

Meg always said he was a slow study, but he did it. He actually fucking _did_ it.

"That's it." he murmurs. "You got it."

Sam's doesn't respond his hand shaking slightly as he flicks it through the air.

The needle remains unmoving.

Shit.

Sam's eyes open, the dim hope being replaced by a heartbrokenness that floods his irises. "It didn't work."

"Nope," Rafe huffs. "It didn't."

"I told you." Sam mutters, anger returning in waves. "I fucking told you."

Rafe smiles at Sam. "At least you tried kiddo." he mumbles, before slamming all of the contents into his arm.

"NO!"Sam cries, reaching out for him as the empty container falls to the ground.

"Maybe next time, son." Rafe starts, patting him consolingly on the arm.

A cry rips its way up from Sam's chest as he plows Rafe into a wall.

"Whoa buddy; you're the one that couldn't shoot his load. Don't take your impotence out on me."

"Get out." he spits. "Get out of him right NOW!"

Rafe giggles. "You sick of me already?"

Sam's eyes dart around frantically, looking for what Rafe isn't sure until he feels the younger Winchesters fingernails claw at the area around his shoulder.

Kid's got spunk.

He plants his knee into Sam's solar plexus, watching as the Winchester folds in on himself with a soft oomph.

"You know what you are really so mad about Sam?"

Sam pulls his arm into his stomach, using his feet to push away from the demon.

"No? Well, let me tell you," he begins softly, bending to his knees."That some day your brother will come back, you know that and there won't be anything in his eyes but that pretty, pretty hazel. And he'll still be a monster. And it will all be because of you."

"Shut up." Sam wheezes.

"Because you were too soft to kill someone who broke your fucking arm!" he yells, before letting out a laugh. "Huh, funny how that worked out." he breathes, poking at the damaged limb.

Sam pants out a breath of pained air as he scrambles further back.

"You can run from a lot of things Sam, but not from this. Not from this."

The younger man's eyes fill with tears and desperation as he swings his hand into Rafe's shoulder.

Rafe catches the glint of the metal lighter just seconds before it makes contact with him, the flame urgently licking the fabric covering his shoulder and the binding link underneath.

"So close, baby brother. So close." Rafe laughs, watching Sam struggle against the strength of the demon.

The hand that Rafe has gripped around the lighter spasms, before tightening into a fist as it presses into his vessel's shoulder.

_Dean_.

The instant burn on his arm is incomparable to the acknowledgement that this sack of bones in front of him-with the help of his pain in the ass brother- just outsmarted him.

Damn. Meg was going to be _pissed._

"Adinos asshole." Sam mutters.

Rafe feels his presence being peeled from the eldest Winchester, like paint that has been left on for too long, the color chipping away to reveal the original creation underneath. He braces a hand against Sam's chest in panic, the tethers into Dean's soul being cut away like the ropes from a ship leaving the dock. He can hear a hellish scream echoing at an insurmountable volume as his mouth feels like it is being yanked open.

His voice is a whisper of sound as he glares down at Sam. "Hope your brother enjoys the trip."

Being ejected from a vessel is what he imagines being ejected from a burning plane to be like, except instead of soaring into blue skies, the cover doesn't open and you slam into with bone crunching intensity the glass becoming a second skin to your form.

He finds he cannot stifle the screams of pain lancing through his shattered soul as Dean's body jerks.

Maybe it's more like being on a ship that's going down while you're trapped in the boiler room, your skin bubbling off of your bones, only to be crushed by the pressure of water rushing in.

He lets out another wounded howl, the noise scraping out of his throat sounding suspiciously like "Winchesters."

Fuck it, it's like free falling into a helicopter propeller.

He has no more time to wax poetic about the agony that bombards him from all sides as he leaves the body in a vortex of malice, watching as his vessels frame looks like it is suspended by puppeteer strings for about half a second before it collapses in a heap next to his brother.

He had no idea it was going to hurt this bad, she should have warned him.

Bitch.

* * *

><p>He's deaf, dumb and blind as he feels what he thinks might be his body being cradled by impossibly large hands.<p>

Did he shrink? What the hell is going on?

He feels like a lump of unformed clay as someone whispers something to him.

I don't know what you are saying? Can you slow down?

"Can you hear me?" the figure rumbles, the voice comforting and grounding in direct conflict with the frantic heartbeat walloping against his skin.

I can hear you.

"Dean," the voice splinters with worry. "Please man, say something." A sad chuckle. "_Anything_."

His mouth opens and closes, gaping like a fish sucking in air; a harsh scraping noise trickles out of his lips.

"You're freaking me out." Sam utters as Dean eyes focus on the face of his brother and his defcon one puppy dog stare.

He coughs once to clear his throat before croaking out. "No chick flick moments, dude."

Sam gasps, blinking away tears, seemingly at a loss of what to say. He smiles warmly at his brother. "Yeah, well you're the one holding my hand."

Dean's eyes shift towards his digits, locked in a death grip around his brother's wrist.

He lets go with a hushed chuckle. "Shut up."

It feels like it takes him half a lifetime to be able to stand, using Sam as a fleshy crutch. His brother offers his good arm to him, his eyes searching his brother's form for some sort of hidden injury he can't see.

He feels like a specimen being examined as he grouses. "I got it."

"Dean,"Sam starts, his face demonstrating the beginning of a bitchface. "Let me help you. How do you feel man?"

Dean shoots him a look that roughly translates to 'are you fucking kidding me?' as Sam laughs softly.

"Sorry, I just meant..." he breaks off, the joy at having his brother back being flung aside as he stares at the ugly puncture wound inside his brother's arm. "Shit. Dean, we have to get you to a hospital."His hand closes over his brother's arm.

"What? No, I'm fine."

"Dammit it, Dean! Rafe dosed you with something; we need to get you help."

Dean stares for a second at the needle mark on his arm.

"Dude, I don't feel anything. Must have run its course while you and demon boy were going at it."

"Dean,"Sam's hand presses into his throat, gauging his pulse. "We don't know that."

Dean swats at the hand. "Quit it, Sam. Not like the first thing I've ever shot into my system, I'm tough little brother."

Sam stares at him in disbelief. "Dean, I don't give a shit about your drug phase, we're going to the hospital."

"No, we aren't. If anyone needs to go to the hospital it's Missouri and Jenny." His voices catches on their names. He pushes Sam towards them.

"Dean,"

"Call Bobby and do what you gotta do, but check on them," he reaches out a hand to cover Sam's arm. "Please, Sammy."

It takes Sam a moment to nod in confirmation. "I'm checking on them and then we are _all_ going to the hospital."

"Fine, whatever." Dean huffs, tightening his grip on his brother's arm, his fingers screaming in objection as Dean stares in morbid fascination at his disfigured fingers.

He feels a wave of nausea rock his body as they start to throb.

Dammit, he shouldn't have looked at them…

"Fuck," he bites out.

"What? What is it?"

"Nothing." Dean states, swallowing the food that is currently mosh pitting in his throat. "Go check on the girls."

"Dean,"

"Sam. Just…go check on them."

Sam hesitates for a minute, his face losing all of its bravado as he looks at his brother.

"I'm fine, just make sure they are. I'm a hard hitter." He puffs out an empty laugh as understanding flits across Sam's face.

Smart kid.

"Yeah, okay. Just," he pauses, and Dean thinks he can see the epic lecture that Sam is fighting to keep in his mouth. "Stay here."

Dean places his good hand on the wall, smiling shakily at his sibling."I'm not going anywhere."

Sam grins. "Good."

The second Sam is turned away from him Dean feels his injuries blaze with pain, lighting up like those stupid little fucking pegs on a Lite Brite.

"Man up, Dean." He grumbles to himself, willing himself to not stare at his hand. Sam's steps thump against the linoleum with thunderous cracks and Dean thinks with a little laugh how much he sounds like a giant.

Golly green giant.

Fuck, his head is all messed up.

A flash of discomfort ignites in his arm, his veins bellowing in a low, mournful shriek.

"Oh no..." he breaks off, stumbling forward on unsteady legs.

"Sam,"his tongue feels swollen in his mouth, his words gummy and sticking to the back of his throat.

He reaches out a hand, placing it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, his legs buckling under him. He pitches over on his side like a toddler aborting its endeavor to complete its first steps, the cream colored tablecloth falling over him like a shroud.

"Dean!" Sam turns and runs back towards him, grabbing his brother's shoulder as he shakes him roughly. "Hey, Dean! Stay awake!"

"S'mmy?"

"Stay awake, dammit!" Sam's fingers deftly issue a lightening quick triage.

"I was wrong." He gasps out, finding it hard to connect more than two or three words together.

Sam rips stares in anger at the raised red mark on his brother's arm, his eyes searching for something that can help his brother.

Dean's eyes travel over to the same spot, the realization that he was turned into a human pin cushion doing little to help his condition.

His breath hitches, becoming rapid as he coughs up a mouthful of bile on his shirt. "Sam?" he questions, watching his brother eyes go wide in his face.

"It's gonna be fine, Dean. It's gonna be fine." His nods his head in affirmation, his grin weak on his tortured face.

"Hurts." He gasps, his vision fading as the years melt away on his brother's face, becoming a vulnerable and frightened child once more.

Sam wrestles with his cell, his gaze never leaving Dean's. "It's gonna be fine. _You're _gonna be fine."

"T'rd Sam. Need…" he pants in a breath.

"No! Don't you do this dammit! Stay awake, Dean!"

Dean listlessly reaches a hand up, deciding half way there it's too much trouble.

"Listen to me, Dean. You didn't survive that fucking asshole riding you to give in. Listen!" A hand slaps his cheek, issuing orders into his open cell. "You don't get to die today." He finishes his demands with a fast click, dropping his cell to the ground.

Sam's eyes fill up with liquid, his pupils hidden behind a veil of tears. "You." He begins, conviction dousing his words. **"Don't** get to die."

Dean nods, trying to offer some words of comfort for his brother, his response lost as his body heaves with the force of regurgitated meals spewing from his mouth.

"Dean, hang on! Bobby's on his way, we can fix this…"

The rest of his words disappear into a whirl of chaos as Dean flails another hand, searching for a hold.

"I got you." He hears murmured softly. "I'm here."

He hates to disappoint Sam, but he just can't hold on anymore.


	16. Chapter 16

**A.N.:Hello all and welcome to the latest chapter of 'Devil Within', I hope all who read it enjoy. And for those of us waiting for drugged!Dean (ME! ME! :P) that will be in the next chapter. :-D Any medical fallicies are mine and mine alone. Thanks go out to my beta Kat as always. And a million thanks to the rest of your wonderful people who read and review. I can't convey how very much it means to me. Thank you!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Except for 'Devil's spit'. Yeah, I totally made that one up. **

Sam thinks about how many times he has teased Dean over the years about his guilty pleasure medical shows.

"_That's so dumb man." Sam sighed. "We've been in deep shit before and things don't slow down, they speed up."_

_Dean had crunched on a handful of popcorn, skewering his brother with a glare. "Can it Sammy."_

Apparently they just hadn't been in deep enough shit, because now everything is moving in slow motion, his heart pounding louder than anything else going on around him.

Except for the silence radiating from his big brother.

He's been breathing for Dean for about two minutes now, his body injuries trying to steal away his consciousness as he blows air into his brother's still lungs. His phone has buzzed twice by his leg and he thinks he can hear someone coming to in the kitchen.

His attention can't afford be divided as he continues his rescue breathing.

He's going to wake up; he's **going** to wake up.

Someone is calling his name, the sound distorted and booming in the small space.

The same someone grabs onto his arm trying to jerk him away from Dean, he brushes them off with a growl.

"Let me see, son." The voice urges, as Sam sees a sputter of Dean's chest go up and down, his system finally kicking in.

He nearly sobs in relief, letting Bobby take over as his body refuses to do anything other than sit and stare.

"Is he…?" His breath rushes out of him as he reaches a hand towards his brother.

Bobby performs a quick assessment. "Breathing. He's breathing. Pulse is erratic as hell. Dean? Can you hear me, son?"

Dean's eyes jerk around the room, not settling on anything for more than a few seconds before bouncing back to stare right in front of him.

The older hunter waves a hand in front of Dean's eyes. "Dean?"

"Is he okay, Bobby?" His voice cracks and Sam hates that he sounds like a scared little kid. Dean needs him to keep it together. But he can't help the tremor in his throat as he watches his brother stare straight ahead with no purpose. Like no one is home.

"I don't know." He pats the eldest Winchesters cheek. "You said he was drugged?"

"Yeah."

"With what?"

Sam wracks his brain for what Rafe called it. Devil's something…

"Sam?"

"Oh," he starts, shaking the urge to pass out from his head. "Um…Devil's something. Devil's blood? Devil's saliva?" He scratches at his five o'clock shadow distractedly.

"Devil's spit?"

Sam nods, regretting the motion as soon as he does it. He feels like a bobble head whose owner is cruelly pulling on the top, trying to find out just how much pressure it takes to pop it off.

"Balls." Bobby groans.

"What? What is it?"

"This shit has been all over the news. Most powerful hallucinogenic out there right now, it's only sold on the black market."

Sam leans forward, needing to ground himself as he grabs onto Dean's knee. "But he's going to be okay, right?" Sam's voice drops to a whisper. "Bobby?"

Bobby cranes his head around, gauging their measly equipment. "We need to get him to a hospital. There ain't exactly been a mile long list of survivors."

"No," Sam utters. "He's going to make it. He _has _to."

Bobby opens his mouth to respond, his expression pulling tight as Dean's body spasms in his arms.

"Fuck!" he yells out. "He's seizing!" Bobby screams as his arms close around him in a vice grip, trying to stop Dean from hurting himself further.

Bobby rolls him over on his side, throwing a glance at Sam that screams 'could use some help here.'

Sam tries to send the message to his brain to kick start his body in gear, but apparently, much like a game of telephone, the message is garbled by the time it reaches its destination.

He needs to be doing something…

"What's happening?" A small, feminine voice asks as a figure steps up behind Sam. Linoleum

Who?

His brain files that information into 'figure out later' as she drops down to her knees.

"Sam!" Bobby bellows. "I need your help here!"

Oh right…

Sam places his good arm palm down on the floor, applying a tiny pit of force as his body sways.

He feels like he's just expelled enough energy to leap over the empire state building, and he's disappointed when all that greets his eyes is the off colored linoleum.

"I got it." The woman replies, falling to her knees in front of Dean's body as she takes his head into her lap.

Sam's can't think past 'help Dean', but his body doesn't seem to be able to obey that request, annoyingly sending half a dozen demands for sleep back to him.

Dean lets out a low growl, his frame jackknifing against the force of the seizure. Bobby grips tightens, the older hunter's form rocking with Dean.

"Keep his head steady." He orders the women, one of his hands moving to gauge Dean's pulse.

Her blond hair sticks to her head in a clump of blood and sweat, but her face is determined and worried as she holds him still.

"Dean! Dean, if you can hear me, ride it out." Bobby instructs, his face looking haggard in the mid-day sun as it drips in through the window.

Slowly his breathing slows down, body going slack as Dean's eyes stop their competitive tennis match with his skull, disappearing as they roll backwards.

"Dean," Sam starts, moving his hand from his brother's knee to his chest, needing to feel the soft patter of his heart.

"Is he…" The woman he now recognizes as Jenny pauses as tears spill down her cheeks. "Is that _thing _gone?"

Sam nods. "Yeah. It's just Dean in there."

Jenny runs a hand along his head, gasping as she feels the heat blaring from his skin. "He's burning up."

Bobby drags his ball cap from his head, scratching the back of his head. "He needs water and ice. Lots of it."

She dips her head. "We should call the hospital."

"Can't." Sam mumbles. "Henrickson."

"Right." Bobby hisses. "Fuck."

Sam meets the older man's eyes. "Can we do this here, Bobby? Does he need to go?"

Bobby weighs the question for a moment. "Neither of you need the police trouble, and I can't see Henrickson taking kindly to the 'a demon made me do it' excuse, so we'll have to make due."

Jenny gets to her feet, hastily making a call to what sounds like a school. She closes her cell phone with a grim look.

"The kids won't be home for a while, what do you need?"

Sam doesn't know how to express his gratitude, his mouth opening and closing in an attempt to do something other than pant air.

Jenny must be a mind reader because she spares a quick glance at Sam. "Now, we're even." she mutters with a small smile, helping Bobby get Dean to a standing position.

"Dean? Bobby shifts his weight as Dean head lolls into the crook of his neck.

Jenny cups a hand around Dean's face. "Can you hear us, Dean?"

_Can you hear me, Sammy? You got beaned pretty bad. You okay?_

"Boy's out colder than day old penguin shit. We need to get his temp down, or we'll have no choice but to take him to a hospital."

"Right." Jenny nods, going every bit into protective mama bear mode.

"You okay to do this?" Bobby nods at the gash on her head, dried now, but still ugly and out of place on her.

Jenny skims a hand over the wound, looking at Dean for a second with something akin to hatred before her face softens with remembrance.

"I'd be dead if not for them..." she breaks off with a shaky sigh. "My children would be dead."

Bobby nods once curtly, shifting the weight draped across his back. "Alright then, we need ice and lots of it. Enough to fill a tub."

_I'm sorry; Sammy, but you have a fever. High. We have to break it buddy and this is the only way I know how. _

"Sam, you up for helping me with sleeping beauty here?"

Sam's head snaps up as Jenny disappears into the garage. "What?"

"You heard me golly green, your brother ain't exactly lightweight."

"Oh, okay." Sam mutters, bracing himself as he pulls up to his feet.

Too fast.

He goes tumbling down in a mess of limbs and a startled cry.

_Don't get up before you're ready, Sam. Just take it slow, I got ya._

"Sam!" Bobby voice strung tight with anxiety pulled him back to reality as he watched the older hunter gently deposit Dean into a chair.

_Just sit here. I'll be right back, don't move dude._

"Not moving." he grumbles into his chest, his head feeling like it has gained 200 pounds in the last 20 seconds.

A hand comes around the back of his head, the voice attached to it cursing as Sam winces. It hurts.

"Dammit Sam, why didn't you say anything?"

Sam looks up into blue eyes, feeling the light pressure of a palm against his skull.

_Keep the pressure on. I'm going to go get the first aid kit. And for God's sake Sam, don't fall asleep._

"Trying." he whispers, eyelids deciding now is a good time to call his bluff.

"Kid, you have to stay with me. I can't take care of the both of you. Sam!" He shakes him hard and Sam feels his brain yelp out a warning to **not **do that again.

"Five minutes?" he pleads with the hand, dimly aware that falling asleep with a head injury definitely falls into the category of 'not good.'

_Nope. You can't have five minutes; you'll thank me when you don't wake up a vegetable. _

"Hey! I need your help in here!" The voice throws over his shoulder, before swiveling his head back to the young hunter. "Listen to me Sam; I need you to stay awake. Dean needs you to stay awake. "

"What is it?"

"Sam's hurt. He's bleeding on the back of his head, I can't tell how bad."

Sam leans his head forward into the comforting flannel.

_You're not staying like this all night, bitch._

"We have to call the hospital, we aren't equipped for this."

Sam shakes his head once, weakly, remembering somewhere in the catacombs of his brain that hospitals are bad, though he isn't sure why.

_Sam, I need you to tell me if you need a hospital. And don't ask me if we can afford it, tell me if you __**need **__it. _

"Don't need it." he grunts, shaking his head back and forth across the owner of the flannel shoulder.

A fourth voice joins the conversation, soft and wounded, but steady. "Like hell you don't. You Winchesters are always so damn stubborn."

Sounds like something a Mom would say...

"Well, what are you gawking at me for? Load them up in a car and get these boys to a hospital, I think you'll find that Lawrence is a Hunter friendly town."

The voice sounds sure, _so _sure that Sam feels himself giving over to the maelstrom in his head, hoping that by diving head first into the absolute blackness he will find some sort of relief.

* * *

><p>He wakes up in a room so bright that he fears for a minute or so that he has gone blind.<p>

He moves to place a hand over his eyes, startled into full awareness when he realizes it is bound in a cast.

"What the," he starts, pushing up on his good elbow to try and get enough leverage to get to a sitting position.

A wave of vertigo hits him fast and hard as he fights the urge to pitch over the side of the bed.

"You need a bucket?" a voice cuts through his senses, alerting his hunter's instinct, although struggling to join the rest of his body as it jogs hastily over to him, sucking it's pudgy gut in.

Sam casts his gaze around the room, resting on a young girl about twenty two who stands in the doorway.

Her red hair is vibrant in the small space, looking almost otherworldly, pinned back against her head. She adjusts her glasses on her face and pats down her scrubs over her curves. "Yes or no?"

Sam swallows once, the saliva moving over his throat like waters through a parched oasis. "Yes or no, what?"

"Bucket?"

Sam braces his useable hand on the railing. "Bucket?"

"You looked like you were going to hurl." she smirks, taking a step into the room.

Sam chuckles lightly as the girl gestures to a trashcan.

"Uh, no. I'm fine. I think."

"Oh good, cause I can't even imagine how much would come out of a guy your size." she shudders.

He stares at her in amusement. "Where am I?"

"Lawrence City Clinic."

"Where is?"

"Bobby and the others. Out in the lobby."

"What about?"

"Your brother. He's hasn't woken up yet, but we got his temperature down."

"Who are?"

"Oh, I'm Angie. I'm a nurse here. Sorry, you're probably freaking out a little bit."

"Are you a mind reader?"

Angie laughs, blush coloring her cheeks. "Nope, just a chatterbox."

The urgency of his brother's situation slams back into his mind as he jumps in the bed. "Dean? Where is he? I need to see him, now!"

"Whoa. Slow down there. I can take you to him, but you're not going to help yourself by breaking anything else. "

Sam stares down at his body, noticing his legs have already bent in preparation for movement.

"Take it easy, Sam. We're here to help you."

"You said that." his voice drops an octave.

"And I'm saying it again; you don't seem like someone you would want to get on the bad side of."

"What the hell are you doing here? Am I doing here?"

Angie moves to stand by his side, offering her arm as a crutch.

"You passed out. A **lot** of blunt trauma. Broken rib, arm, and nose. Six stitches right at the base of your skull. Slight concussion, but nothing too bad. I'm guessing from the treasure map along the back of your head it isn't your first."

Sam stares at his limbs, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Don't believe me," she pauses, sweeping her hair back from her neck and pointing to a duo of marks along her pulse point. "Vampire. Killed my whole family when I was six. Almost killed me. A hunter saved me, but not before that bastard left this." Her voice leaks with haunted memories as she lets the wave of red fall back over it. "It never healed."

"I'm sorry." Sam mutters.

"Anyway," she starts, waving a hand over his apology. "A couple of us who had been saved by hunters decided to open a clinic just for them, on the outskirts of town, out of the way. It's mostly volunteer work, but you wouldn't believe the number of hunters that come through. Guess the town is cursed." She laughs bitterly.

Sam swings his legs over the bed, grabbing onto her arm for balance.

She beams up at him, a few inches shy of meeting his chin. "Good, now that we got that out of the way, let's go see your brother."

* * *

><p>Sam throws a wave at the three, no wait the kids were there, make it five people waiting in the lobby as he steps out into the hallway.<p>

He silently assures Bobby that he's okay before following the gentle prod from Angie.

She stops about three rooms down, turning to him with a look full of pity and regret.

Sam enters the room with trepidation, his heart eager and terrified to see Dean all at the same time.

His brother looks small against the eggshell colors sheets, his head turned off to the side like he is trying to hide a smile.

Sam has never been able to stand the sight of Dean on a hospital bed, finding it impossible to marry the frail and vulnerable version of him with the bluster of hot air and confidence he has come to know and love.

His fingers brush over the crook of Dean's elbow, eyes catching the handful of marks that litter his arm.

"What's that?" he wonders aloud as Angie steps into the room beside him.

"Best I can tell, cigarette burns."

Sam feels a battle cry explode in his chest as Angie looks over the machines hooked up to his brother.

She sighs heavily. "He's non-responsive Sam. I'm sorry. We tried everything."

He tries not to look at all the wires attached to Dean, remembering the first memory he has of Dean in a hospital and the absolute panic that flooded his eyes as soon as he realized where he was.

_What the hell are all these wires for? I'm not a damn robot!_

As per usual his quips were just a glamor to hide his fears that were too close to the surface, it'd taken a visit from Dad, a promise to Sam and a plastic tray full of pie to stop his attempts at flight from his confining bed.

Sam hopes he is that lucky this time. He'd spend every last dime they had on pie if Dean would just open his eyes and bitch about his butt scratching, or something equally as ridiculous.

He can feel Angie's eyes on him as she whispers. "He hasn't responded to pain, to stimulus, to heat or cold," she breaks off. "Even voices."

Tears prick his eyes as he rasps out. "How long?"

"It's only been about four hours, but most of the victims that come in with drug problems bounce back by now. We haven't even heard anything about this 'Devil's spit', but he has been pretty much comatose the whole time."

Sam takes Dean's hand in his, the appendage cold and clammy as if it is preparing for its journey into death.

"It's a waiting game now."

He grips his brother's hand tighter until he can feel Dean's pulse flutter against him.

"What did the doctor say?"

"Same thing I'm saying. He's got his hands full with a poltergeist gone wrong, guy basically got gutted." she shivers.

"Can he hear me?"

"I don't know." She replies, walking over to stand by him. "But it can't hurt to try."

Sam blinks away tears as he stares at his brother's still form. "Hey, Dean."

She lays a tiny hand on his shoulder, patting it once before back out of the room. "I'm going to give you some time. Come get me if you need anything."

Sam doesn't acknowledge her, his eyes stuck on his brother's form, looking so calm on the outside.

Sam's fingers twitch in his brother's cool grasp. "I'm here, Dean. I'm not going anywhere."

His brother doesn't acknowledge him, his blank face a contradictory statement to the Hell that Sam knows Dean is battling in his mind.

A battle he has to fight alone.


	17. Chapter 17

**A.N.: Hello all. I know it's been a LONG time coming for this chapter and I apologize for the delay, tragedy struck my life hard and fast and I needed a break from everything else in order to deal. I appreciate your support and love for this story more than mere words can say. I hope that this is worth the wait. A billion thanks to my beta Kat and her hard work and endless patience in helping me shine and buff out all the crap that should never be seen by human eyes, I couldn't do this without you. Another heartfelt thank you to Numpty for her second pair of eyes and her opinion, I added in a couple of sentences just for you. Hope you like them. To everyone else, enjoy the ride and really again, THANK YOU.**

**Disclaimer: Only the words are mine. **

He feels like he's been hit by a truck.

He groans, the sound tumbling from the back of his throat to come crashing into his teeth.

No, wait, scratch that. A bus.

He shifts to the side, breath catching as he feels distress flare through his body.

A flock of Hell's Angels just rolled over his spine, gunning the throttle as they hit the cluster of nerves in the small of his back.

He gulps back a mouth of acidic words, willing the bright flashes behind his eyes to go away.

An unknown amount of time passes. It could be seconds; it could be years before he releases the air trapped in his lungs, wincing against the motion as it pulls some sort of injury on him.

Shit. He hasn't been this sore since Sam shot him full of rock salt.

Sam.

His eyes snap open as he pushes up on the solid surface underneath him.

Where's his brother?

His eyes scan his surroundings, registering tiny details that place him in some sort of medical clinic.

He flexes his hands in front of his face, noticing that his fingers are set now, the mutilated flesh camouflaged by stark, white bandages.

He croaks out his brother's name as he slips one leg over the side of the hospital bed, seeking purchase with his toes.

He needs to get to Sam, needs to see him alive and sort out the off colored images floating around in his head.

Images of being restrained in the back seat of his baby, cursing and spitting as Sam's limp head rolled towards him, his hair haloed around his slack face as Dean spies splash of red staining the Impala.

His feet just skim the cool floor when his brother comes storming into the room.

"Dean, what the hell are you doing?"

Dean's eyes ricochet away from the floor, landing on his brother's seething face.

"Sammy," he mutters as his little brother's hand close over his arms in a vice grip.

He grimaces, man handling the eldest Winchester back into the bed. "What are you doing man?"

Dean tries to fight against the insistent force pressing against him. "Looking for you, you okay?" he huffs as Sam bites out an incredulous laugh.

"Me? Am I okay?"

"Yeah," Dean starts, jotting down a mental list of all of the injuries Sam had obtained.

Sam runs a hand through his hair, his composure tense. "You have to stop worrying about me okay, you just _have_ to."

"Dude," Dean begins, trying to wave off his concern. "I just know you got knocked around."

Sam rises to his full height, his eyes blazing. "I'm fine, Dean. A couple of bumps and bruises, but I'm okay."

"Good, that's good."

His little brother's face softens. "How are you doing?"

Dean balks at that. "Huh? Oh, I'm fine."

"It's just me, Dean. You can tell me the truth."

"I'm fine. Really. Would kill for some water right now, but I'm good."

"No discomfort? No nausea?"

Dean snorts. "Just at this conversation."

"Dean."

"Sorry. Nope, I'm good. But really, some water…"

Sam takes a step up towards his bed, taking Dean's good hand in his, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Sammy?"

"It was touch and go for a little while."

Dean watches Sam's Adam's apple bob in his throat.

Oh no, none of that.

"Hey," he starts, squeezing his brother's hand reassuringly. "I'm golden, man. I mean look at me," he pauses as Sam's head pulls up. "Nothing keeping me down, especially not some piece of shit demon."

Sam chuckles, an errant tear slipping down his cheek. "Yeah, you're superman."

"Without the sissy cape."

Dean feels his chest swell with love as his brother's grip eases in his. Okay, just a little more and this chick flick moment can be over…

There is a soft pop of pressure in his hand, the prelude to a vicious crack of bone as Sam's hand clamps around his.

"God!" He yells out, trying to jerk his appendage out of harm's way.

Sam's lips curl up in a malicious smirk as the hazel of his brother's eyes bleed into blackness.

"Little off the mark there, Dean."

"No." he gasps, pulling his hand towards his chest as he pats down the bed with his other hand.

"Whatcha looking for there slugger? Holy water? Knife? Salt?" He sneers, leaning away from the bed. "Doesn't really come standard with most hospital rooms."

"You're not real!" Dean belts out, panic causing his limbs to seize up and take off all at the same time.

Sam's mouth opens in a guttural laugh. "'Fraid so buddy." He watches as Dean tumbles from the bed and to the floor with a muted grunt of pain.

Dean gets to his feet, gripping the side of the bed for support. "Get the fuck out of my brother." He spits, gaze darting around the room.

His brother's large hands travel the length of his chest. "I like him. A bit bigger than the last model, but whoo, so much more _promise_."

Dean takes a step forward. "Let him go. You can have me, okay? Take me."

Sam's face twists in contemplation, tapping a finger against his chin. "Hmmm…"

Dean steels himself for the possession, his mind still racing for another plan.

"No."

"What?"

"I said, no. You're about to be kibbles and bits in a month or two and well," he grins. "I plan on spending a long, _long _time here."

The older hunter's hand twitches, his body demanding that he stop all of his bravado and pay attention to the pain it's in.

He spies the open door behind his brother's hulking form, wonders if he can get past him to get to help.

"You know I'm not one of the dumber demons son, fool me once, shame on you." He crosses into the threshold with a mocking smile. "Fool me twice, shame on me."

"Rafe, just let my brother go, okay? _Please_."

He chuckles. "Go? Why? He's the one who called me."

That stops Dean short. "What?" He pants.

"That's right; baby bro took a page out of your book and made a deal with a demon for you. You should have heard him begging and pleading, so wrecked at the idea of losing you." He mockingly juts out his lips before his teeth flash in a full grin. "Desperation looks good on you boys."

He clicks his tongue against his teeth, eyeing Dean with contempt. "So the deal was made, the t's were crossed and now, you get to live and don't have to go to hell, but Sam here…" He flexes his arms with a brutal grin. "He gets to be my meat suit for, pretty much, ever."

"That's not the deal."

"That's _our_ deal."

"Like hell." Dean growls, surging forward.

"What are you going to do about it, Dean? Stumble over on Bambi legs and save the day?" Rafe backs up a step. "Ooooh, I'm shaking in your brother's boots."

"You son of a bitch!" Dean yells, eyeing the call button as he tries to reach for it unnoticed.

"Yeah, that's a good idea, call for help." He hisses softly. "Although, I don't think they are going to be able to answer you what with their throats ripped out." He shrugs. "What can I say? I'm learning."

Dean's body shakes as he grits his teeth together.

Rafe strides towards him. "Now if only you Winchesters had learned. Making deals with devils," he shoves Dean's body up against the bed. "Never ends well."

Dean's head spins, the hospital room pitching into a demented version of a fun house as he chokes out. "Bobby!" hoping the elder hunter still has a miraculous save up his sleeve.

The presences at his back leaves for a moment, throwing Dean the rest of the way on the bed as a blurry object is tossed into his lap.

Dean's hand shudders as his fingers travel the worn material.

"Massacring all of the staff here was me being cautious, but Bobby…" he breaks off and Dean hears a contented sigh flow into the room. "That was me being petty."

He'd have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to see the gummy brown substance the hat is saturated with.

"No," Dean moans, his head shaking back and forth as disbelief floods his veins.

"Better get used to the fact that I'm going to be in your life for a while."

Rafe continues to ramble on as Dean spirals into a vat of contrition, barbs of failure and loss biting into him with a ruthlessness he hasn't felt since he was bathed in the glow from his father's end so long ago.

He crushes Bobby's hat to his chest, stifling a sob as Rafe chortles "Oh that is so _precious_."

He wants to yell at him to shut up, to puff out his chest and let his bluster bowl the demon over, but he's collapsing under the weight of his shame.

Why did you do this Sam? How could you? Bobby, I'm so sorry…

"You Winchesters." Rafe drones, his feet stopping by the bed. "You really are your own worst enemy."

Dean doesn't even see the blow coming, only feels his body tilt into the sheets that smell like chemicals as his brother's voice rumbles.

"See you soon bro." and Dean surfaces out of his own personal hell and into the comforting black jaws of oblivion.

* * *

><p>He feels slight pressure on the top of his hand, a pinprick of weight really and a soft, reassuring voice that tells him. <em>'You're going to be okay, Dean.'<em>

Somewhere in the back of his mind he reminds himself that this is _not_ a shelter or safe haven and he needs to fight it.

He can't see anything as he jerks his hand from the familiar grip, snarling something unintelligible and vile.

His hand catches on something blunt and cool and he feels his whole frame go into overdrive at the notion that he is captive.

The voice tries to ground him, pleads with him to calm down and listen, and ghosts a set of abducted fingers over his palm.

A splintering crunch bellows through him, a phantom pain igniting in his hand as he remembers and hisses out.

'Not Sam!' the words a battle cry and mourning song.

'Dean,' the voice tries again, the tone stretched to its breaking point, a hitch of breath as hands move to his shoulders, pushing him down, trying to subdue him.

He uses the last of his strength as madness gnaws at his insides to slam his face into the face of his not brother, still unable to make out his features, but the cry of surprise and hurt unmistakable in the small space.

Dean grins as the chaos around him melts into a river of black.

* * *

><p>He comes to gasping, his hand twisting into the sheets and his heart hammering into his rib cage.<p>

His eyes fly around the room, looking for anything that will put the jumbled jigsaw of his memories in order.

Trashcan, motivation posters, his clothes, cabinets, empty chair, nothing that screams danger and yet…

He spies his cell sitting on top of his clothes across the room, seemingly worlds away.

"Come on, Dean." He grumbles, getting to his feet with a delayed cry.

He takes one step and roars internally in victory that he doesn't go tumbling to the floor like a two year old.

"Come on!" he thunders, scuttling his feet the rest of the way to his cell.

He passes Bobby's name with a twinge of hurt, scrolling down to Ellen as he presses send.

The phone only rings two times before going to voicemail and Dean curses loudly, hoping that his warning call is not too late.

"Ellen, hey it's me Dean. I'm me, Sam's possessed. Bobby's," he breaks off with a muted yelp as a manicured hand taps him on the back.

"Mr. Winchester?" the feminine voice inquires as Dean whirls on her.

She gasps, her crystalline blue eyes turning wide as saucers as she backs away from him.

"Who are you?" he hollers, wielding the cell like a weapon.

"I'm Fiona. I'm a nurse here," she points a quivering finger to her brass nametag. "I was just coming to check on you, you aren't supposed to be up…" her voice disappears under a quake of stutters.

Dean's eyes narrow as he closes the phone. "How do you know my name?"

She looks around the room, shuffling her feet back towards the door. "Your brother, he um…"

Dean storms forward, his hand closing over hers in a death grip. "Don't fuck with me! My brother is,"

She squeals in terror, craning her neck around to flash out an SOS to anyone walking by as she mutters. "Please just calm down,"

Half formed images of his brother's face contorting into something from his nightmares flood his mind as he shakes the woman's frail figure again. "Listen to me, if you're lying to me, I'll kill you right here."

She laughs the sound cracking at the end. "Sorry, it's not funny, I just,"

"You sure are nervous for a nurse. Haven't you seen plenty of fucked up things?" Dean accuses as Fiona's chest heaves with a sob.

"It's my first week."

Guilt ignites in his chest as his grip loosens. "Okay, okay look. I need a car, oh wait, I guess I have Bobby's car." His breath hitches.

"Mr. Singer?" Fiona asks. "He'll want to know you're awake."

"Bobby's dead." He states flatly as she tries to twist out of his grip.

"I'm sorry Mr. Winchester, but he's not."

"Shut up."

"Um…" Fiona bites on her lip as if trying to remember some vital information. "Dean."

He ceases applying pressure to her arm but still doesn't let go.

"He's out in the waiting room, if you like I can take you to him, or he can come here or…"

"Fine, take me to him." He demands, pushing her towards the door.

She nods and straightens her scrubs before leading them out of the room.

Bobby's face is turned down towards his chest, his cap sliding on his head as his body rises and falls with a soft breathing motion.

Dean stares at the aged hunter speechless, almost in awe at the ethereal light that the moon is casting about his form.

"He's alive?" He questions, taking a step towards him.

"Barely." She utters, tossing a soft smile at him. "Been all but living in that chair since they brought you in."

Dean absently tugs on his hospital bracelet mumbling. "They."

"Yeah. Mr. Singer and your brother and Jenny and Ms. Missouri too."

Dean pivots to face her. "They're all okay?"

Fiona shies awake from the intensity crackling from the younger hunter. "They'll have some battle scars to show off, but I bet you all could say that."

Dean reaches a hand to her pleading, beseechingly. "Where's my brother?"

Fiona's smile is kind as she tugs his sleeve. "Come on, I'll show you."

As he follows her down the hallway, the length stretching out and distorting he can't shake the image that something is amiss.

He watches her black hair sway back and forth like a metronome, a soft scent of vanilla and lavendar wafting off of her. Why does she seem so familiar?

She stops in front of a closed door, her hand resting on the knob as she steps in.

Dean stares at her in confusion for a second longer, before his attention is stolen by the sleeping male in the room.

Sam.

And there he is. His gargantuan body looking impossible small under the white sheets, his face set in a slight smile.

"Sam?" He calls out, placing a hand on the side of the bed.

"He finally crashed after two days of staying by your side. We had to drag him up and out of the chair."

"Two days?" Dean parrots back, attempting to syphon some sort of sense from the words she's offering.

Fiona glances at Dean before hesitantly smoothing his little brother's bangs over his head. "It's been three days since they brought you in; you had been subjected to drug called 'Devil's spit' and you were completely unresponsive to any medical help."

Dean's fingers, which he notices belatedly are not broken, dance over the lavender bruise in the crook of his elbow, nails skimming the pinpoint from the needle.

"For the first two days you were out of your mind, screaming and hollering and Sam never left your side."

Dean chuckles. "Yeah, that's Sam for you. Is he?"

Fiona swipes the chart from the end of the bed and skims through it. "He's fine. Really. Had a slight concussion and two broken ribs, but mostly it's the worry that's been eating at him."

Dean watches her mouth upturn in a soft smile and has a worrying flash of those lips parted in a hellish scream.

He runs a hand through his unruly hair, passing a hand over his eyes. "Oh god,"

"You probably saw all sorts of horrible things Mr. Winchester; you were carrying on about some girl who you thought you saw killed."

Dean's head shoots up. "What?"

Fiona's hand touches his shoulder lightly. "It was all a horrific nightmare. You're on the mend now."

He forces back his gruesome thoughts, figuring that she probably knows better when it comes to this shit anyway.

"Yeah, thanks. You're probably right." Dean feels his anxiety deflate his body, leaving behind the broken shell of a man who had almost caused harm to an innocent woman.

"I'm sorry about before. I was messed up." He mutters, his head going down by his baby brother's side. He sighs against the flutter of a pulse on the inside of his arm.

Sam's alive. He's here and alive.

Well, that was one fucking trip…

"You've been through hell, Mr. Winchester, why don't you get some rest?"

He feels her hands tug on him.

An unbidden wave of affection pulls through him. "I just want to stay here, can I just stay here?"

She smiles down at him, patting his arm gently. "Of course. I'll go grab a blanket."

He beams tiredly at her. "Thanks, I owe you one."

His body folds into the metal chair by the bed hand resting on his brother's arm.

"Maybe next time you can save me." She laughs.

"Yeah, maybe." He breathes, his body already starting its journey into sleep.

"Instead of just watching me jerk around like a fish on land." Her voice turns bitter as her nails bite into his flesh.

"What the fuck?" he groans, trying to swivel around to face her as her hand chomps into his arm before tossing him into the wall.

He crumbles at her feet like a rag doll, caught off guard by her sudden strength. She mercilessly drags him to his feet; her lips a cold bluish color as she leans in and hisses. "Pretty much what I was thinking. What the fuck is this guy doing? What the fuck will my parents think? What the fuck is going to happen to my daughter?"

"No," Dean utters, trying to push her away. "Please stop."

She cackles. "Please stop? Please stop? Did you? As I begged and screamed and writhed? No! You got off on it."

In the dim light from the hallway Dean can clearly make out the hand marks sticking out from her neck like macabre tattoos, her raven hair swinging like a scythe between them.

"It wasn't me."

"Oh come on, Dean! That may work when you're five, but we both know you had some hand in it." She chuckles. "Pardon the pun."

"I couldn't control it!"

"But you could save Denise! That's bullshit. What made her better than me? More worthy? Why did she have the right to live?"

Dean covers his face as her hand flies out, nails catching on his cheeks.

"I'm sorry!" He bellows. "I'm so sorry."

Her cries are wild as she tears into him, her sobs splintering in the air.

Dean wishes he could find a way to fix this, tries to tell her as she grabs his head and violently pounds it into one of the motivational poster, the glass tinkling to the ground around him.

As he takes a swan dive towards the floor, her furious eyes watching him, he thinks that he deserves this.

He deserves to die.

* * *

><p>His arm spasms against his side, the sound of a soft jingle catching him off guard.<p>

Why does he have his car keys on him?

He cracks one eyelid, immediately regretting it as he is assaulted by an army of light and sound.

An animalistic noise catches in his throat as he tries to throw a hand over his face for protection.

The same jingle sounds.

What the…

His brain swats sluggishly at his request for information, grumbling something about 'find out your own damn self'

He braves his other eye out into the alien world, hissing and gasping and cursing against the foreign sensations that flash around his pupils.

Conscious thought is so overrated.

A soft voice urges him to 'wake up' and he thinks somewhere that he would like to plant a swift kick in to the owner of the voice's ass.

"You with us?"

"Give him some time; it's not easy to come out of this."

The words don't have much meaning and he doesn't think they are directed at him, so he tries to lash out towards it, hoping to get it to cease.

The same jingle sounds.

He flexes his digits, moving what he thinks is his arm up. He's disturbed to find it doesn't travel more than an inch or so before being stopped by something.

He's trapped, he realizes with a cry, thrashing on whatever structure holds him.

"Whoa, Dean. It's okay."

His whole being becomes aware as he hears that voice, marries it to the image of his brother.

"S'm?" he asks his voice shaking as the warm palm of his brother, grounds him.

"Hey. Yeah, it's me."

His face is open and loving and kind and Dean's gaze traveled to their hands that are joined together.

He flinches as he hears the crunch.

"You get away from me." He spits, pulling his legs up to his chest as he chances a kick to the demon.

Sam's body careens away from him in surprise, a soft 'uumph' of sound escaping as he throws a bewildered look towards his brother.

"Dean, I…"

"You think I don't know your tricks?" he tugs harshly on the bonds keeping him confined. "You're good, but you ain't that good."

Sam shoots a look towards the other occupant in the room, looking for support. "Is this normal?"

The woman shrugs. "I don't know, he's your brother."

Dean eyes bounces back and forth between them, letting out a derisive laugh. "So, you're in it together now? Good, kill two birds with one stone."

"Dean," Sam takes a step forward, flinching as Dean jerks even further on the cuffs, a soft pink forming around his chaffed wrists.

"Don't you fucking touch me." Dean snarls as Sam stops.

"I don't get it man, help me understand."

Dean looks at the tray by his bed, his mind ignoring the food and concentrating on the use of the object.

He kicks it towards the body of his brother, taking their momentary distraction to try and work his hand free, no such luck as the bond doesn't give.

"Dean!" Sam's lips move to chastise him as Dean eyes him with distain.

"Don't talk to me." He yanks on his hand again, letting out a frustrated groan when all it does is rip a layer of skin from his wrist. "I'm not falling for your shit this time."

The woman by his bed moves away from him in leaping steps, mumbling something to both him and the demon wearing his brother.

"Just you and me now Rafe." He starts. "Get rid of the bitch and it's just you and me."

Sam's face looks confused, before crumbling into pain. "Oh Dean,"

"Don't you fucking 'Oh Dean' me. You get out of my brother. NOW!"

Sam's hands go up in the air. "Whoa, calm down man. It's me."

Dean laughs. "Right. It's you. Fool me once," he shakes his head with a bitter laugh. "You know the rest."

"I swear, Dean. I'm me. Rafe's gone. You and me sent him back where he belongs, he's gone Dean."

"Bullshit!" Dean yells, willing himself not to be fooled. "You're not my brother."

Sam's eyes fill with tears.

Oh, he's _good_.

"Please Dean, if you just calm down we can," His voice trails off as he looks down in uncertainty and the motion is so _Sam_ that Dean sucks in a breath.

"Stop it. Okay, just stop!" he yells, tugging against the straps across his hands. "You're not Sam."

"It's me, Dean." He takes a step towards Dean, extending a hand towards him.

"Rafe, stop it." He pleads. "You can have me, take me. Do whatever to me…just…get out of Sam." His voice spills out of him driven by sorrow. "I'm sorry Sam. I'll fix this. I swear to you, I'll fucking fix this."

His eyes bounce around the room, looking for a way to defend himself from the horrors he is up against.

Sam takes a step towards him. "Dude, you've been tripping out for days. For days Dean. Try to remember."

His anger comes back in a flash, chasing away the tears in his eyes with a violent streak of crimson. "Oh, I remember you son of a bitch. I remember your fucking smile as you broke my goddamn hand."

"Dean, look at your hand. It's fine, man. Well at least one of them. Just look."

Dean's fingers tighten into a fist as he tries to retreat further up the bed. "Fuck you."

"That hand is fine, Dean. Well it was until you started yanking on it."

Dean falters for just a second as Sam takes another tiny step forward.

"Just look at your hand."

His blinks down in surprise at his hand, expecting to see damage that he knows was done to it.

"How did you…" he breaks off, wiggling his fingers.

"Because it didn't happen. You've been here in the hospital. Pretty much in a coma." Sam says, his tone so saturating in anguish that Dean can't help his heart from stuttering instinctively in his chest.

The nurse that Dean had forgotten about walks up and pulls a vial from within her pocket. Dean stiffens up before demanding. "What the fuck is that?"

She pops off the top of the container. "It's holy water. Whole staff is required to carry it."

Dean's gaze swings between the two, trying to accept that just maybe _this_ is reality. He stares down the girl with a glare before stating. "You could be lying."

She shrugs and deposits the object back in her scrub pocket. "You're right. I could." She bends over to pick up a small paper object on the floor before breaking it open and dumping in on Sam. "But salt doesn't."

His eyes slide back and forth able to see that Sam is not smoking from the salt as he favors her with a half-smile. He watches the girl roll her eyes as if asking why the hell the younger hunter had not thought of that in the first place and the sane part of Dean's brain picks up on her brazen color of hair and that she is several inches shorter than who he had mistaken her for.

It's not her.

Not the dead girl, not Fiona.

"Dean?" Sam's voice filters to him as though through a tunnel.

"What happened?" He questions, feeling like he is viewing several sets of memories at once.

He waits for this scene to cut out, for the floor to fall out underneath him so he can wake up in a new, more confusing hell than before.

His whole body tips forward, the fight going out of him at an alarming rate.

The cut scene doesn't happen though, just a worried voice booming like a gong as strong arms encircle him.

"Dean! Whoa, Dean. I got you." Sam's words are urgent by his ear, his body quaking as his heartbeat flounders in his chest.

"Sam?" Dean asks.

"Yeah, it's okay. I got you." His little brother adjusts Dean so that his weight is mostly on the younger hunter's shoulder.

"Sammy?" Dean can barely dare to hope.

"Yeah, Dean. It's me."

"Oh." Dean mumbles, reaching up to pat him on the chest before he remembers. "Why am I tied up?"

Sam twists his head away but not before Dean can see the angry, ugly scratch marks down the side of his face.

"I hurt you?" His voice is small as he recalls lashing out like a wild cat, catching his dozing younger brother in the face as Sam yelled out bewildered.

"You didn't know it was me, Dean. You were out of your mind." Sam replies, trying to draw his brother out of the Grand Canyon of guilt that Dean is scaling.

Dean blinks, his eyelids taking a lifetime to rise back up as he mutters. "You okay?"

Sam chuckles, shaking his head as Dean feels liquid fall onto the crown of his skull. "Not really."

Dean nods. "Tell me about it."

Sam places a hand solidly on his brother's chest. "You're going to be fine Dean. Everything is going to be okay."

Somehow as Dean lets his eyes slide close and he feels the soft prick of tears in his eyes he doubts it.

But he can hear the silence stretch out between them, the need from Sam to have his big brother make everything all right so present it's almost tangible.

He lets out a tired sigh as he mutters. "Okay, Sam."


	18. Chapter 18

**A.N.: So I know it has taken me forever and a day to write another chapter, but my muse, she is fickle and well…shit happens. I truly appreciate all of the attention and love and support and maybe fear this story of mine has gotten. Really. It means more to me than I can say. You guys make me feel so, SO good and I'm terribly sorry for the delay to this chapter, the good news is that there is only one more chapter left after this one (say it with me…YAY!) and I'm already hard at work on that one. In case we have forgotten (because I totally did) what happened in the last chapter: Rafe is gone, Dean was tripping balls and Sam was being a big mother hen of angst and Bobby was somewhere in the background watching over his loveable 'idjits'. Are we all caught up now? Good. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, an extra special thanks goes out to Numpty and Sharlot who beta-ed this and made this nice and pretty. There aren't enough cookies in the world to repay the two of you. :D The rest of the mistakes and stupidity is mine and mine alone. God bless all of you.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. **

**P.S. Oh and did you guys notice the new cover picture for 'Devil Within'? Cause that awesomeness is from smalld1171 herself. She so rocks!**

If he didn't know any better, Sam would think he was dead.

But he does know better, has been obsessively checking his pulse every hour on the hour.

Dean's been completely lost to the world for the last six hours, his face pale, his brow soaked, and worst of all his lips parting from time to time to hiss out a pitiful whimper.

Sam has never felt so powerless.

He tries to say reassuring things, knowing how useless his words are even as he babbles.

He tightens his grip on Dean's hand and wishes with all his might that he could heave him up and out of his torment.

"Come on, Dean. You have to be okay. You just _have_ to be."

His brother remains infuriatingly silent.

* * *

><p>He doesn't remember falling asleep, can't recall slipping from consciousness to oblivion, just waking up suddenly as Dean's body jerks on the bed.<p>

"Dean?" he mumbles, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, wincing as he is reminded that he didn't come out of this thing unscathed.

His brother is drawn tight, his whole body rigid as he mumbles something unintelligible into his shoulder, his eyebrows dipping down low.

Dean's scared, a fact that hits Sam in the chest with all the subtly of a runaway eighteen wheeler.

Christ.

He hisses out a breath as he lays a hand on his older brother's shoulder.

"Dean, hey man. It's okay." He gently shifts the limb. "It's just me dude, you're safe"

"Get..."the rest of his slurred sentence is lost into his pillow.

"Dean. Hey, come on now. You're fine. We're okay." He reaches for his brothers' slack hand shocked as it flies up and catches him on the side of his face.

Within seconds he is fighting Dean off of him, his eyes glazed over with fever and poison as he thrashes in his grip.

"Jesus, Dean! Stop!" He can taste the blood falling into his mouth; hear his heart pounding in his ears as Dean spits and flails.

"Get the hell away from me!" His voice is feral and frightened and Sam longs to chase those unwanted feelings from his tone.

"Dean," he starts his voice cracking as he hears footsteps race into the room. "Please, Dean..."

"I'll kill you, I swear." Dean whispers, his strength tapering off as his body starts to fall backwards. "I'll fucking kill you..."

Dean falls so suddenly that Sam can't quite catch him as he lowers his still body back towards the bed.

His older brother, ever the protector, flopping like a rag doll into the cold steel railing. It's an image Sam is pretty sure will haunt him for some time.

He's unaware of another presence in the room as delicate and dainty hands help maneuver Dean into a position feigning comfort, his brother's mouth parted in some sort of retort that was stolen from him in the effect of the poison.

Sam doesn't even realize he's muttering words of reassurance to Dean until a soft pressure on his arm makes him turn.

"Sam!"

He blinks once, tearing his eyes from his brother as if he might magically disappear if he looks away for too long.

"God, I've been calling you and talking to you for almost five minutes. What the hell happened?" Her hand moves from his shoulder to fall to her side, worry lines crease around her eyes.

Sam swallows the hedgehog of terror scurrying in the back of his throat, wets his lips and utters. "Dean."

Angie rolls her eyes before huffing out. "Yeah, I gathered that. But _what _happened?"

"He…he…"

Angie's touch is light on his arm, her voice soft as she urges. "What happened Sam?"

Sam looks stunned between his brother and the nurse, turning his face all the way towards her.

She lets out a soft gasp. "Sam, your face,"

Sam's tone is bitter as he wipes a palm down the injury and replies. "Rafe. Rafe happened."

Angie nods, not with understanding, but compassion as she leads Sam to a chair. "We should get that cleaned up."

Sam shrugs. "Just a scratch."

Angie snorts. "I'm guessing you and your brother are the type of people who say 'just a scratch' for a bullet wound."

Sam chuckles and shifts on the chair to where his body doesn't hurt quite so much. "Us? Never."

"I'll bet." Angie pushes several pills into his hand. "Take these."

"No, I need to be awake if,"

"Sam, you're not going to do your brother any good if you can barely stand. I'm doing you a favor by not putting you up in a hospital bed since you vehemently claim that you are 'fine', but you _need_ to rest."

His eyes travel from the nurse to his brother, weighing the consequences of sleep versus the rewards.

"I can't." He states, pocketing the pills. "Dean needs me."

Angie's answering sigh is heavy and sounds practiced. "Fine, but at least take one. You look like shit."

He graces her with a half-smile before dry swallowing one of the pills. "Happy?"

She smiles back. "Ecstatic."

"Has Bobby called?"

"No. But he said he'd be back by nighttime, had a couple of loose ends to tie up."

"Jenny and Missouri?"

"Both checked out this morning with a clean bill of health."

He smiles, feeling a flicker of relief. "That's good."

"Yeah." She echoes the sentiment, her eyes turning towards the comatose patient.

His gaze follows her, his heart clenching in his chest at the stillness of Dean.

It's so _wrong._

The monotonous tone from the heart monitor reminds him that it isn't over yet, that Dean's still breathing, still fighting.

"He'll be okay Sam." She breathes.

For Sam there is no other option, no other choice so he replies. "Yeah, he will be."

* * *

><p>He wishes there was about another ten feet between him and his older brother, as he is currently looking like a riled up bobcat trapped in a cage.<p>

Sam flinches involuntarily every time Dean yanks on his cuffs and Sam can't help thinking that if he doesn't knock it off he's going to cut right into the damn bone.

He opens his mouth to sputter out more words, hoping these will be the ones that make the different when all of the color drains out of Dean's face, his body loses momentum and he folds in on himself like a cheap suit.

Sam feels like at some point he should get used to seeing his brother pitch over, the number of times he has carried him from a hunt or a bar countless, but he never has, always has a millisecond of panic bloom in his chest as he watches Dean go down.

Afraid that this will be the time he doesn't come back up.

He cushions his brother against his shoulder, his heart breaking a little as Dean tries to reach up to touch him, needing to _feel_ that this is not just some hallucination.

Tears sting his eyes at the helplessness and vulnerability oozing from his brother, falling out from the chinks in his armor that he can't cover up right now.

He wishes Angie wasn't there.

As if she is a mind reader as well as a life saver she meets his eyes briefly before bowing out of the room.

Dean utters "You okay?" and it takes every bit of strength that Sam possesses not to dissolve into hysterical tears.

_I've been watching you scream and whimper for the last seventy two hours unable to do anything to help. No, I'm not fucking okay._

He shifts his brother in closer and lays his chin on the crown of his head as he mutters. "Not really."

Dean nods. "Tell me about it."

Sam hears the reassuring words tumble out of his mouth, leaving in a whoosh of air and lacking the conviction to convince anyone of their truth.

But as always, Dean rises to the occasion, sighing tiredly as he replies. "Okay, Sam."

Dean lets him stay that way for a few moments longer than necessary before mumbling. "Dude." A verbal cue that his brother is ready for him to stop cuddling him.

Sam coughs awkwardly and pushes away from his brother.

"Could I get the hell out of these cuffs? They are chafing like a son of a bitch."

Sam laughs softly. "Yeah, sure." He frees Dean's hands from one of the cuffs and winces as he sees just how much the bond has harmed him. "Crap Dean."

"It's not that bad."

"Yes, it is. It looks terrible. I'm going to get Angie and see if she can clean this up."

"It's no a big deal."

"We'll get you fixed up," he pauses as Dean catches his younger brother's shoulder with his freed hand.

"Thanks, Sam."

They share of a moment of complete understanding, rare and coveted in a lifetime of guarded secrets and misunderstandings.

Dean smiles at him, a full toothy grin. It almost convinces Sam that he's okay.

Almost.

"I'll be right back man."

Dean nods. "Yeah, yeah. No rush."

He pretends not to hear the stifled sobs as the door swings closed behind him.

* * *

><p>"Five star service, but <em>crappy<em> food." Dean leans over the side of the counter as Sam signs him out of the small clinic.

The woman at the other end of the counter smiles warmly at him as Angie rolls her eyes.

"Everyone's a critic." She mutters.

Dean shifts his jacket up higher around his shoulders. "I'm just saying…cheeseburgers, not a bad thing."

Angie chuckles and passes a vial of pills over towards him. "Yeah, but heart attacks are."

Dean shrugs. "Everybody dies from something."

Before Sam can contest the finality of that statement Dean grunts and pockets the pills.

"Make sure you take one of those a day," Angie starts, eyeing the raw wounds on the eldest Winchester's wrist. "So you don't get an infection."

Dean nods. "Sure thing."

They stare at each other for just a second before Angie pats his arm. "Stay out of trouble."

Dean smiles weakly at her. "Yeah, I'll try." Before turning away from the rest of the staff. "I'll be outside. Don't take all day, Bobby's waiting for us."

Angie watches his brother go with an indescribable emotion on her face, not quite pity but tragic all the same.

"Thanks for everything Angie." Sam smiles at her and digs the keys out of his jacket.

"Anytime." She pulls another container from beneath the counter and presses it into Sam's hand.

"What?" Sam's question is cut off as Angie leans in to hug his huge frame.

"Take care of yourselves, Sam. I don't want to see either of you back here unless it's to visit."

"Yeah, sure."

"But just so you guys know there is a whole network of clinics like this one. Text me if you need one."

Sam tears his gaze from her eyes to peer down at the bottle.

Angie steps away from him and whispers. "They're for the nightmares."

* * *

><p>Sam rolls over and wipes the sleep from his eyes pushing the covers off of him in one fluid motion as he sits up and blinks himself into awareness.<p>

The other bed's empty, the stench of alcohol unmistakable as he calls out. "Dean?"

In the faded light from the ancient TV set Sam can see the outline of Dean as he raises the bottle to his lips.

"Dean?"

He jumps.

"Did I wake you up?" He chuckles softly. "Sorry."

"No, just…what are you doing, man?" Sam forces himself to his feet and shuffles over to where his brother is.

His brother with bloodshot eyes and shaking hands.

"I just was seeing what was on, couldn't sleep."

Sam knows why he can't sleep.

"Anything good?" he questions, molding his body into the adjacent chair.

"Infomercials." He swings the bottle towards Sam. "Thirsty?"

Sam grimaces. "No, thanks." As Dean takes the bottle back like it's a treasured friend.

"You need to sleep Dean."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead, Sam."

"You look like you're halfway there dude."

Dean laughs and checks his watch. "Not yet man, still have a little over 3 months left."

Sam can't stop the torrent of rage that flies through him as he leaps to his feet. "Dammit, that's not funny!"

Dean pulls another swallow from the bottle. "I ain't laughing."

That's when Sam sees it. The fear, the vulnerability, the tears perched in his brother's eyes, the defeat that he has swallowed down with the whiskey.

"Dean,"

"Could you get me something to eat, I'm starving." Dean turns back towards the TV, placing the bottle on the ground.

"Dean,"

"Please Sam,"

He bites back his retort and replies with a heavy sigh. "What do you want?"

"The usual. Something greasy and bad for me."

Sam nods.

He only feels a little bit of guilt when he slips one of the pills under the bacon on the burger.

* * *

><p>Dean is pissed.<p>

Not that he'd expect anything less from Mr. 'Don't touch me, don't look at me, I'm fine.', but still he isn't quite ready for the perturbed shove that sends him into the wall.

"Aren't you going to ask what the hell that was for?" Dean fumes as Sam laughs quietly.

"No. I know what it was for."

"Damn straight you do!"

"I'm not going to apologize for it."

"For drugging me?"

Sam scoffs. "It's better than your steady diet of bullshit."

Dean's face shuts down in degrees in front of him, his eyes sparking with defiance even as his mouth turns up in a twisted smile. Much closer to Rafe's expression than Sam is comfortable with.

"I told you man, I'm,"

"Fine? You're fine?" Sam can't stop the bitter laugh that leaks out of his lips. "Stop saying that. You're not fine. You're,"

"I'm what, Sam?"

"God Dean, just..." he grabs a handful of his hair in frustration. "Fuck, just _talk _to me."

And just like that it's as if every barrier that Dean has ever constructed for himself flies into place.

"What do you want to talk about?"

He knows, so Sam doesn't bother providing him with an answer as he stomps off to the bathroom.

And he isn't surprised when he hears the violent thump of a fist hitting drywall moments later.

* * *

><p>He wonders if this is the way Dean felt all those years ago when Sam would take off.<p>

Years of slinging a backpack over his shoulder and slipping out through the back door with whispered promises of 'I'll never do this again' and lies that this time his vow to leave his family and hunting behind would stick.

Dean would always be waiting for him when he crawled back in that door, his head bowed in shame and embarrassment. Dean's head would rise up as soon as he heard the click of the door, his feet propped up against one of the motel chairs, a scowl on his face that melted into a relieved smile the second he laid eyes on his wayward little brother.

He would always check him over to make sure he was okay before giving him the third degree and threatening all sorts of interesting and creative ways to end his life if he ever pulled this shit again.

Sam was going to return the favor just as soon as he dragged his ass back to the hotel.

Any minute now...

They'd only stayed at Bobby's for a day or two before Dean had insisted they get back on the road. Sam had overheard a brief conversation between the older hunter and his hard headed brother where Bobby tried to express just how much none of this was Dean's fault.

He didn't have to wait for long to hear the 'yeah, whatever' mumbled back as Dean shuffled out of the room.

As if he didn't deserve the compassion and understanding from the older man.

As if anyone deserved it more.

Sam is yanked from his thoughts as Dean kicks the door closed behind him.

His eyes flash up to his brother's before flitting away in shame.

Sam is on his feet within seconds, crossing the few feet that separate them and enveloping his older brother in a hug.

Dean succumbs to the embrace for a moment longer than Sam expected before muttering. "The hell dude?"

Okay, he's fine. He's alive. Thank God.

Sam lets Dean push him away as he whispers. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Course. I'm always okay."

"Dean," Sam sighs and can almost hear Dean's voice come out of his mouth as he scolds him. "Where the hell have you been man?"

"Out."

"For eight hours?"

Dean raises his bleary eyes towards the clock. "Looks like."

"Without your phone?"

"Yup."

"Dean, what if something had happened to you?" He hates that he can hear his voice catch.

Tick. Tick. **BOOM.**

Dean explodes.

"Something happened? What, are you fucking kidding me! Like what Sam? Like, um, I get possessed and start taking out people out? Or how 'bout I make a deal with the devil and I'm going to get dragged to hell? Huh? Like that?"

Dean's finally talking and Sam doesn't know if he can handle what he's saying.

"New flash genius, something _already _happened."

"Dean,"

"It's already happened Sam, can't change it, stop it, fix it."

"Dean,"

"Can't bring them back."

"Dean,"

"I killed someone Sam!"

"No, that wasn't you, that was,"

"Rafe? Yeah, it was, but you know, it was my hands that did it, my face that split into a shit eating grin as she gasped out her last breath."

Sam can't stop himself from grabbing onto Dean's shoulder, wincing even as his brother flinches at the sudden contact.

"Listen to me man." Sam pleads, giving Dean a slight shake to jolt him out of his thoughts. "That wasn't you. None of it. That was some evil son of a bitch who took you for a joyride. It _wasn't _you."

Dean holds his gaze as he nods slowly. "Yeah, you're right."

Sam's head dips in confirmation. "Hell yes, I am."

When Dean's head comes back up there is one single, solitary tear that carves a path down his face. "But it will be."

"What?"

"It will be me."

"What? No."

"That's what I'm going to become Sammy."

Oh god...

"No."

"When I go," he pauses and gulps as another couple of tears make their way down his face. "Down there, it's going to happen to me."

"No, Dean. No."

"Except I'll like it this time. Take pleasure out of the death and destruction."

"Dammit Dean, no."

"Nothing can save me."

"NO!" Sam booms, his hands clamping over Dean's arms. "That's not going to happen."

"Sammy," His brother's voice breaks.

"It's not going to happen Dean, listen to me. It's _not _going to happen."

"I don't want to go to hell. I don't want to go to hell Sam."

The dam erupts, the armor comes crumbling down, the wall tumbles down stone by stone until Sam barely recognizes the man in front of him as the facade his brother has had firmly planted for years melts before his eyes.

"Dean,"

"I can't go Sam."

"You're not."

"I can't go to hell Sammy."

Dean's knees buckle as he slides down the wall, his arms still held tight in Sam's hands.

"You're not going to. Hey! Do you hear me, there's no way, we'll find a way to save you. You're not going Dean, do you hear me big brother?"

"I can't go Sam, please don't make me go."

Sam knows in that second that he will do anything to stop this from happening to Dean, no matter the cost to himself Sam feels the resolute decision that he _will_ find a way to save Dean carve itself into his heart like an unseen tattoo.

No cost is too high to pay for his brother's soul.

Nothing.

He places as arm around Dean's shoulders and helps him to his feet, saying with absolute conviction and certainty.

"You won't."

No matter what.


	19. Chapter 19

**A.N.: Can we just agree that it has been WAY too long since I have updated and move on? We can? Thanks so much, I love you guys. So here it is, the last chapter, I hope it tickles your fancy, floats your boat and is your cup of tea. Thank you SO much to everyone that has stuck with me on this journey, I have appreciated and cherished every single word of encouragement and praise you have blessed me with. Sharlot, how the hell can I thank you for all you have done? There are no words that mean enough, but from the bottom of my heart THANK YOU. For your time, your support, your talent and most importantly of all, your friendship. :) Also another big thanks to Numpty for all of your kinds words and insight, your input made me feel like a million bucks today sweetie! Whatever thanks and gratitude I have left go to the rest of you, you wonderful, talented, fantastic people. Thank you! Thank you! THANK YOU! Enjoy! Happy Valentine's Day!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything other than my thoughts and ideas. **

Dean stares in disdain at his unkempt reflection in the mirror, taking a moment to pause and scrutinize his appearance before he works one of his crooked fingers into the loose knot at the top of his tie.

"Hate these things." he mutters, wiggling the damaged digit back and forth until the tie gives and comes apart.

He huffs in irritation as he tries for the umpteenth time to get the damn thing to sit straight. He's always been terrible at this stuff.

He resists the urge to call out for Sam; the big moose has always been able to get these things on the first try, inexplicably better at all things 'normal.'

Dean decided a long time ago, that he would do any job on the planet that didn't require him to dress like a douchebag. He must have been six or so, and he was sick and tired of funerals and plays and every other damn thing that had him fighting with a tie like it was a mortal enemy.

Not like Dean didn't know how to tie a knot, he'd been practicing that shit since he was ten, able to make a sturdy hole in any piece of rope in under a minute. But a tie...

He frowns at his reflection once more waiting for the sight in front of him to stick out his crooked middle finger as punishment for the sheer amount of staring it has been subjected to in the last hour.

Why does he care so much? Not like he knew her...

He'd never had the chance.

His hands had been too busy choking the life out of her.

It left little time for introductions.

He freezes at the images flooding his brain, a simultaneous wave of guilt and dread clawing its way up into his throat from some hidden cavern deep down.

"Dammit," He mutters, turning away from the mirror.

He can't look at himself.

Hell, it's all he can do to live with what he's done.

Good thing he won't have to do that much longer.

Who knew the deal would end up being a good thing.

He chuckles at the irony, unable to help the waver that lingers in his voice.

He's so sick of this.

"Dean," a booming knock from the other side of the door jolts him out of his shame spiral and he comes back to reality with a tight gasp.

There is a stretch of silence before his baby brother's voice cut through the paper thin door. "Dean?"

"Yeah." His voice catches on the syllable as he clears his throat to try again. "Yeah, I'm in here."

Good, he almost sounds sane.

"Well, you've been in there a while man, you okay?"

Dean lets the question hang in the air before waving a hand through it. "Course. I'm fine. Just..."

"Just what?"

He swallows hard and damn if the concerned tone doesn't seep through the door and manifest as puppy eyes in front of him.

He sighs heavily, wrapping one of his hands around the knob, feeling like he physically has to force himself to pry the door open even a crack.

A crack is all that's needed as Sam's body fits in the space, his frame maneuvering into the small bathroom.

He eyes his brother with pity, quickly wiping the expression from his face when Dean glares at him.

"What's the problem, Dean?"

Oh you know, just your basic complete fucking meltdown here...nothing new.

He shrugs, the motion pulling on some indeterminable injury. "Having trouble getting this monkey suit to cooperate."

Sam spies the crumpled tie in his fist, his face splitting into a small smile. "What did the tie ever do to you Dean?"

Dean spins towards the sink and slams the object in question down in frustration. "Oh, it knows what it did."

"Here," Sam works the material from under Dean's palm, careful not to touch any of the healing fingers. "Let me help you with that."

He wants to protest, wants to refuse, wants to fight and bitch and moan, but already the tie looks harmless in his brother's hands and he isn't sure how much longer he can keep his shit together.

He mutters a halfhearted, "I didn't get you a corsage," as Sam works the material into a presentable display in no time flat.

Sam replies in kind with a "Don't think I'm the type of girl who's going to put out."

Dean chuckles, the sound raw and foreign in his mouth, the aftertaste of it bitter in light of recent events. "Prude."

"There." Sam steps back to admire his work.

Dean raises his eyes to the mirror, pain and regret flashing across his face in varying degrees.

Sam catches the flicker on his face before he can shove it back down.

"Dean," He starts his voice soft and subdued as if anything more will make Dean run screaming out the door. "You don't have to do this, you know."

Dean eyes his reflection, swearing that it nods in agreement at him. "Yeah," he runs his hands over his jacket. "I do."

* * *

><p>He's struck by the awkwardness and discomfort he feels in the graveyard. He's been picking bits of dirt out from under his fingernails for as long as he can remember. This place is all part of the deal. But not like this. He's only been here for this a handful of times and more than he would like to admit.<p>

Sam was always the one to go to these things, apologize to the family, offer his condolences as Dean buried himself in the next hunt.

After all no words of remorse were going to bring back those he failed.

No matter how sincere they were.

He stays in the back, Sam at his side, until everyone has dispersed, nearly losing it as the young girl who has the same eyes as her mother is guided away from Fiona's tombstone, her fist releasing a crumpled rose into the fresh dirt.

_This is all because of you…_ The thought slithers into his brain and he has no truth to counter it. It is because of him. It's always because of him.

Sam's hand clasps onto his shoulder.

Fucking Sam…always here.

He's ashamed to admit it, but he's not sure in that moment if he loves him or hates him for it.

Sam pats him once more, muttering "I'll be in the car," before he leaves his side completely.

The light from the sun casts a sliver against the tombstone and the name glares at him like an accusation.

His feet take him up to the granite, cool to the touch as he lays a hand on it.

"I'm so sorry." He rasps, fighting a fresh wave of tears. "I'm so fucking sorry."

When he trudges back to the Impala an hour later, Sam surprises him by gunning the car and racing away from the graveyard as fast as his baby's wheels will allow.

* * *

><p>He huffs a sad laugh as he deletes the voicemail from his phone.<p>

"Bobby?" Sam asks around a lazy swig from his beer.

"Bobby." Dean confirms, dipping a finger into the simmering chili and licking off the contents.

"What did he have to say?"

"Oh you know the usual. It's not my fault, I need to stop beating myself up, he's going to kick my ass if I don't stop feeling sorry for myself, oh and _call me back you idjit_."

Sam snorts, popping a chip into his mouth. "Yeah, that sounds like Bobby."

"I'm guessing he has a whole new patch of grey hair thanks to this shit."

"Or another bald spot."

Dean chokes on the pull from his bottle, muttering. "That's not nice, Sam."

And suddenly the air in the room changes, the laughter petering off into an intense silence that Dean thinks might just drive him over the tiny cliff known as his sanity.

He snags the controller from his brother, desperate for meaningless chatter to fill the hotel room once more when Sam huffs out. "I killed five people."

The confession comes so quiet, so full of guilt and shame and all the other emotions that Dean has been carrying around for the last two weeks that he almost drops the remote in shock.

He can't even manage a response as he turns to stare at his brother.

"Five people. I didn't even remember the first three for a couple of days. I'll never forget them now."

He's ploughed through with a feeling of compassion and regret and as much as he hates it, relief. Relief that he's not the only one.

He never wanted this for them, for Sammy. Never.

Finally he manages a meek. "You never said anything." Suddenly curious about just how many things Sam has hidden from him.

Sam shrugs, his expression guarded, but his meaning so painful clear when he answers. "Neither have you."

They spend the rest of the night in a not quite comfortable silence as Dean tries to figure out what the hell this all means.

* * *

><p>Sam's up early the next morning, his face determined, his stance rigid and Dean wonders why he looks like that. Looks like Dad.<p>

"What's up?" Dean grumbles, wiping sleep out of his eyes as his brother whirls on him.

"Hey. Didn't mean to wake you up." His palms are fisted in agitation, his breath sawing out on him in one quick whoosh.

Something's wrong. He knows it, can feel it in the pit of his stomach where all of his other sins hide.

"Fuck. What is it now?" _Please_ don't be Bobby.

Sam runs a hand through his hair, indecision lighting up his features as Dean watches him wrestle with what lie to feed him.

"Dude, spill it."

His brother pushes out a forced sigh. "We have to go somewhere."

"Where?"

* * *

><p>Suddenly Sam's behavior makes sense. He's short with him and doesn't say much of anything as they drive up to the weather worn house, Dean can't believe he didn't realize just how close they were all this time.<p>

Then again, he's had other things on his mind.

By the time his brother has put the car in park, he has determined that this is not a good idea and he must be out of his fucking mind.

He's about to say as much when the screen door creaks open and there she is.

The bruises on her throat scream truths that she isn't able to voice; she's lost the spark that Rafe thought was so damn sexy. In its place are fear and caution and hatred so strong that he balks in the heat of it.

"This was…a…" he stutters over his words. "This was a bad idea Sam."

Sam nods. "I know, but…" he trails off.

"But nothing, get us out of here." He turns to his brother, pleading with him. "Now."

Sam regards his brother for just a moment as Denise takes a teetering step off the front porch, starting her descent to the car.

"Please, Sam." Everything in him is breaking apart. Not now…not now…

"Okay," He pulls the shifter down into reverse, his foot meeting the pedal as he eases them out of the driveway.

Denise tears after them, yelling something but all Dean can hear is his heart beating in his ears and her soft breath gasping as he pushed down harder and harder and…

Her hand slams into his open window her wrist curling around the side of the door.

"Wait!" she cries as Sam presses on the brake.

"Go." Dean begs. "Go."

He watches as he shoots an apologetic look to his brother, turning the key so that the car becomes stationary.

He's going to lose it. Right here. Right now.

The cross from the rosary twisted around her fingers swings in front of his lowered eyes as she mouths a soft 'thank you' to Sam.

Yeah, thanks for nothing.

He's got to get out here. His hand moves to the door handle, ready to knock over anything and everything to escape.

"Bobby told me everything, about demons and monsters and I…" her words flow past him in a jumbled mess, none of them landing long enough to mean a damn thing.

"Dean, did you hear her?"

"I have to…" One push and he's home free.

"Thank you."

Her words stop him cold. Wait, what?

"I know I'd be dead if it wasn't for you. You stopped that _thing_," she flinches. "From killing me. Thank you. Thank you so much." She has tears in her eyes and her lips part in a tiny smile.

Dean's struck motionless, the monster in his chest dazed by her words.

"It's so horrible and I know, after what Bobby said about you, I _know_ you would never do something like that. I didn't even…" she breaks off, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. "I can barely even look at you." She confesses a tremble working through her bones.

He knows the feeling.

"But I know in my gut you saved me…I saw it in your eyes." She releases the door with a shaky breath.

He meets her gaze, watching her fiddle with the beads of the rosary, nervousness and caution exuding from her like bittersweet perfume.

She would be prepared next time…God forbid there was a next time.

"Denise, if there is anything we can do," That's Sam. Has he been here all of this time?

She chuckles softly. "No, you can't. I have to…to find a way to move past this." Her shoes crunch on the gravel as her hand comes back down by the door, moving quickly to pat Dean's clenched fists. "And so do you."

He looks up at her, wants to take her hand back, do something other than stare at the damn floor but she is reclaiming her space and safety and muttering goodbye as she flees back towards the house.

"Dean, are you…"

"Just drive Sam. Please, just drive."

* * *

><p>He insists on getting behind the wheel about two hours later, needing to feel the rumble and roar of his sweetheart underneath him…needing to feel like Dean again.<p>

Sam has finally given into the pull of sleep, his breath fogging up the window as his head dips and lulls in the seat beside him. He'd tried to apologize about Denise, tried to explain that him and Bobby were just trying to help, but Dean couldn't tell him that it was a bad idea, or a good idea or what he needed just that he wants to stop feeling like his heart is imploding on itself.

Her eyes were so clear, one hand scrubbing her neck as if the mere contact could make the scars fade away. But she'd thanked him. Thanked him! How fucked up was that?! Thank you for almost choking me to death….girl has issues.

'_Thank you for saving me.'_

Other people hadn't been so lucky. But she…she was alive. She was going to be able to put this all behind her… someday.

He grasps onto that shiny truth with all of his might, needing the hope it's currently providing.

And for just a second, just a moment in time as he watches the white lines bleeding on the asphalt, he feels like himself. Like an older brother and a hunter and a hero.

He shakes his head with a snort, taking note of the small town he is passing through.

Suddenly he knows, knows where to go, knows what to do, knows that Denise's gratitude has granted him a much needed break. He eases his baby onto the dirt road, dropping off onto a back road.

He knows it's stupid, but he feels like he might just have left some of the load he has been carrying on that highway.

It feels good.

* * *

><p>"I don't get to make decisions anymore." He mutters, shooting Sam a nervous glance. "This was a terrible idea. Why did you listen to me?"<p>

Sam chortles. "You didn't say anything to me dude until we were about 15 minutes out."

"Shit. That's right. Well why in the hell didn't you sense something and talk me out of it? Aren't you supposed to be all obied kanobied?"

Sam laughs. "What's the worst she can do? Shoot you."

"Don't even joke about that." The door looms in front of them and with an exaggerated eye roll his baby brother leans in and swings the door open.

Several pairs of eyes swing up to scrutinize whoever walked through the door and Dean suddenly feels like he's made the biggest mistake of his life.

That is until her eyes crinkle with the beginnings of a smile and she nods at both of them. "Boys."

Sam takes the initiative and steps in front of him, favoring the woman with a smile of his own. "Hey Ellen."

Dean follows behind like a kid that isn't quite sure if he is out of trouble yet.

She pulls out a beer from behind the bar, placing it in front of Sam with a sigh.

Sam tilts the bottle towards Dean.

He feels like he might be sick when Ellen grumbles. "What, is it the wrong brand?"

He feels lighter as he chuckles. "No, it's great, thanks."

She snorts as he tentatively takes the bottle from his baby brother, chancing a light pull from the rim of the bottle.

"Looks like you got rid of that asshole roommate of yours." She states as he pulls a slug from the beer.

Sam shoves him on the shoulder. "Yeah, we didn't really see eye to eye. He had to go."

Dean has a smart ass comment just begging to push out from his lips, but the back door opens and he sees her blond hair swing in front of her as she maneuvers a crate of alcohol and suddenly he can't speak.

Her eyebrows go up on her forehead as she spots him, the blond lines keeping her healing scar company.

He chokes on shame, the beer suddenly bitter in his mouth.

Ellen and Sam turn their bodies to face whatever has made Dean falter.

He sucks in an unsteady breath as she shuffles the load in her arms on the floor.

_Run, run, run. _

"Dean, are you okay?"

_Not now Sam._

She's in front of him now, adjusting her hair so it covers more of her scar, nervously fiddling with a bar rag on the counter.

Ellen and Sam seem to be watching the two of them with trepidation, both of them waiting for the other one to speak.

_There is nothing you can say to make this right, nothing you can say that will make her forgive you, you're worthless._

She stares him down for a moment, flicking the top of the bottom with one of her slender fingers.

"You planning on paying for that or freeloading like last time?"

His mouth drops open in a startled 'O" as he stutters out "Huh?"

She rolls her eyes at him. "Last time, it was on the house, chaos ensued, remember?"

How could he forget?

He swallows, unable to do anything more than grunt in response.

She chuckles, the sound light and carefree and more forgiving than any words she could offer.

"I think it was karma, it's not right to just go through life not paying for things."

When Dean doesn't answer she looks around, trying to figure out if the game she is playing with the damaged hunter is just too much for his psyche.

He wants to say he's sorry, wants to beg for forgiveness…

"Are you just not talking to me now?"

"Jo," he coughs to clear his throat. "I'm so,"

"Thirsty?" She chirps in. "Sounds like you have something caught in your throat."

"No, I,"

"Take a hint Dean." She whispers, plopping down another cold one in front of him. "But that's the last free one you're going to get."

Ellen smiles towards her daughter. "Do I look like I'm running a free bar here?"

Jo colors under the statement. "Sorry Mom."

She smiles and pushes Jo back towards the crate. "Get the rest of the inventory put up Jo and then have a seat."

"A seat?"

The elderly woman grins and pats Dean on the shoulder. "Yup, next round's on Dean."

It's a suggestion he is more than happy to oblige. "Yes ma'am."

* * *

><p>He feels better than he's felt in months, and maybe it's the buzz from the beer or the tight and full hug that Ellen gave him at the door, but for the first time, in a long time, he feels good.<p>

Good enough to crank up the tunes on his baby and belt out one of his favorite songs.

Off key by the grimace on his brother's face.

"What Sam?"

Sam hides a smile into the palm of his hand, like he knows a secret that Dean hasn't been made privy too.

"Nothing."

"No, what?"

Sam beams at him for a second longer than he's comfortable with.

"It's good to have you back is all."

Dean grins in response, gunning the engine.

"Hell yeah it is."

* * *

><p>How the hell does he end up in these situations?<p>

"Just relax, Dean."

It makes him a saint for not punching his smug little brother in the mouth, right?

"How many times did you say you've done this?" He stutters, shifting his body farther away.

The tattoo artist smirks before replying. "Before you was peeing standing up little man."

Sam snorts and Dean throws a glare over his shoulder.

"Why the hell am I going first anyway? It was your terrible idea; shouldn't you be the guinea pig?"

His younger brother bends down and reaches for the unopened bottle of Jack Daniels. "You said you wanted to get this done and over with man."

Dean shudders before snatching the peace offering from Sam. "Yeah, you're right. Dammit, I hate when you're right."

He wrenches the cap from the top of the bottle, shooting a weak grin to his brother before downing a large swallow.

The tattooist mouth turns down in a grimace as he grumbles. "You're not supposed to be drinking in here. Put that shit up."

Dean looks at the man. "You mean I have to do this sober?" his voice reaching an almost whine.

"Fraid so." He replies, taking the bottle from the elder hunter and placing it on the table behind him.

"Son of a bitch." Dean mutters.

The burly man chuckles lightly as he revs the needle. "Alright boys, you ready for this?"

Dean squints his eyes shut and leans back in the chair with a grimace.

The needle touches him on his collarbone the same time as his brothers' hand wraps around his.

"You don't need to do that." Dean grouses, biting back a groan.

Sam sighs and Dean feels his head touch the back of the chair. "Yeah, I do."

He can't help the genuine smile that lights up on his lips from that.

"I expect you to do the same for me though." Sam instructs.

Dean grins into the squeaky fabric of the chair. "Whatever you say, Sammy."

**A.W.: That's all she wrote guys! Thank you again for everything, see you next time! :)**


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